


glory & gore

by shuhannon



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Alternate Universe - Pirate, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Alternate Universe - The Witcher Fusion, Angst with a Happy Ending, Arranged Marriage, Bathtub Sex, Captain Kylo Ren, Dark Rey (Star Wars), F/M, Historical Fantasy, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Inspired by Pirates of the Caribbean, Inspired by The Witcher, King Ben Solo, Mage Rey (Star Wars), Mages, On the Run, POV Alternating, Pirates, Prince Ben Solo, This takes place somewhere in the 1700s but also has medieval elements?, sorta - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-18
Updated: 2020-04-25
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:01:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 48,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22295224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shuhannon/pseuds/shuhannon
Summary: the last prince of alderaan is arranged to marry a powerful mage.  too bad she hates him and he spends most of his time living a double life as captain kylo ren, pirate extraordinaire.what could possibly go wrong?
Relationships: Kylo Ren/Rey, Rey & Ben Solo, Rey & Ben Solo | Kylo Ren, Rey/Ben Solo, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 57
Kudos: 213
Collections: Reylo - AU's (Star Wars), Solo Love Letters





	1. glory and gore go hand in hand

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kaybohls](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaybohls/gifts).



> for the wonderful kaybohls.
> 
> you asked for canon!verse smuggler ben solo. you asked for a historical arranged marriage au. you asked for regency with magic.
> 
> why choose one prompt when you can mash them all together? minus the canon thing. also this is about one hundred years pre-regency but also with medieval vibes? idk. just go with it.
> 
> you probably will know who wrote this but here's hoping i'm sneaky this time around.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He goes by a different name at sea. The citizens of Alderaan think he’s off at the Royal Naval Academy, uniform crisp and clean as he learns about proper battle tactics, to study dusty old books, the parchment yellowed and the information obsolete.

warning: slight mentions of suicide ideation in this chapter. see chapter notes for more information.

  
[ ](https://imgbb.com/)  


_ glory and gore go hand in hand _

_ that's why we're making headlines _

\- - - - - - -

“You should feel thankful.”

“Thankful?” She spits the word out as if it was poison on her tongue. Thankful?  _ Thankful?!  _ What in this god forsaken situation could she possibly be thankful for?

“You could do a lot worse.”

She actually stumbles, taking a step back as if she had been slapped. Her body is already reacting. Her hands begin to shake, trembling like mad until she curls her fingers inward towards her palms and her fingernails began to dig into the soft flesh. Marks will be left behind. Perhaps blood will be drawn. Maybe the skin will scar, leaving behind little crescent shapes as reminders of this day, of what was about to be done.

“He’s vile. A smuggler, a scoundrel. Nothing more than a bilge rat who is running home with his tail between his legs.”

“He is the last Prince of Alderaan, the heir to the throne.” 

There’s a dangerous gleam in her mother’s eyes, a look that she recognizes all too well. Despite the lack of blood the mother and daughter share, that same look is found in her own eyes when she is feeling stubborn, is refusing to budge even an inch because she knows she is right.

Rey grits her teeth, grinding the enamel and ignoring the way her jaw begins to ache. She is about to protest, to point out that this is nothing more than a noose around her neck.There cannot be any power in the world worth this death sentence. Even an alliance with the sovereign cannot be worth the life of her only daughter.

Then her mother tilts her chin. “You will wed him.”

And she knows that that is it. It is the final nail in the coffin. The grim reaper was already scratching at her door.

Ben Solo will be her downfall. Her end. Her ruin.

\- - - - - - -

He goes by a different name at sea. The citizens of Alderaan think he’s off at the Royal Naval Academy, uniform crisp and clean as he learns about proper battle tactics, to study dusty old books, the parchment yellowed and the information obsolete. 

In reality, he’s commanding behind the wheel of the  _ SS Silencer _ , barking orders and insults at his crew as they invaded other ships, stealing, pilfering whatever they could make a profit from. They sailed to the ends of the earth, not a single island, not even a sandbar going left unexplored.

There was more to learn than what textbooks and classrooms could teach you. A whole world was waiting outside of the palace gates, and for as long. 

If he was to be king, then he needed to see that world. Only then could he return to the throne prepared.

His mother had not been happy. His uncle had been furious.

“This is your destiny,” They kept saying. “This is what you are meant to do. This is in your blood.”

Only his father truly understood and now…

Kylo shakes his head, pushing those thoughts away.

Right now he had a bigger issue to deal with.

For years, Kylo knew one day the letter would come. 

The only way his mother and uncle would agree to allow Kylo the freedom of sailing the seas had been due to this one clause, this single stipulation. There had been no time frame attached to it. It could be called in two weeks after he had left, or years down the line. There was no way of telling because  _ they _ had no way to know.

Now, it seems that the day is here. His boots smacked against the wooden planks of the deck,  _ thud, thud, thud,  _ as if he was carrying the weight of the world upon his shoulders.

In a way, he was.

The parchment felt like a death sentence in his hand, as heavy as his footsteps. It seemed that the time was now. The queen was cashing in her single bargaining chip, was holding her son to his word.

The  _ Silencer _ would set sail for Alderaan at first morning’s light, for their captain had a wedding to attend - his own.

\- - - - - - -

The crown sits heavy atop her head, digging into her scalp, as if it was slowly sinking, attaching itself to her flesh.

The bracelets on her wrists feel more like iron chains, controlling every one of her movements, dictating her entire life.

She was being primped and preened. Every inch of her body has been scrubbed and doused with perfume. Her hair has been plaited and curled, her lips and cheeks dotted with rouge.

Rey can feel the hangman’s noose tightening around her neck. She can feel the rope scratching against her skin, can feel the pressure building.

There is a knock on the door.

“He is ready to see her, ma’am.”

The air feels like it is being pulled from the room. She feels like she is drowning, like her lungs are being filled with icy water from the sea. Out of instinct her hands go to her stomach, to her neck. Her fingers curl around the necklace, begin to pull on the collar.

“Rey.”

Her mother’s voice is meant to bring her comfort. Her mother is supposed to offer her protection. And she has. For most of Rey’s life, she has been shown love and care, has been fed and bathed, has been taken fully under this woman’s wing as if Rey is her own.

Now she feels nothing but betrayal.

“ _ Rey _ .”

“I’m  _ fine _ .” The word spits out with more venom than she intends. Her spine straightens, her hands drop uselessly to her sides. She tries to focus on her breathing, tries to even out the way her chest rises and falls.

She can do this. She can be strong.

She has to. There is no other choice.

_ You could end it,  _ a distant voice rings in the back of her mind.  _ You could sacrifice your life. _

It’s not the first time such thoughts have entered her mind. It’s not the first time she has weighed the pros and cons.

It would be messy, yet effective. She would be rendered useless. A corpse couldn’t help rule a country. A body without any life left in its lungs could not provide any heirs.

Yet something always stopped her. Another voice, one just as distant, it’s tone deep and strong.

_ Destiny _ , it whispers to her in the night. 

_ Destiny _ , it says to her now.

So she straightens the bodice of her dress, her fingers brushing over the soft silk. She tilts her chin, her head held high and her eyes refusing to make contact with her mother’s.

Yet as she walks from the room, her skirts swishing against the stone floor, it is still the funeral march that she hears playing in her head.

\- - - - - - -

Even a thorough scrub down is not enough to wash the traces of sea life from his skin. He’s tan, more than than perhaps he’s ever been, the freckles more prominent on his face, on his shoulders and across his chest. His hair is still long and wavy, though now it is also brushed, the knots and tangles removed, and his goatee remains, albeit now nicely trimmed. 

The grit and grime have been washed from his hair and his skin. No longer does he smell like the salty sea breeze tainted with sweat and hard work.

No, now he smells like fucking flowers.

He has swapped his captain’s coat, his linen trousers and tunic for something more fitting of his status. The heir to the throne surely cannot appear before his bride to be wearing the garb of a pirate.

The navy uniform feels heavy, as if the seams are lined with iron and the pockets full of rocks. He feels as if he is about to walk the plank, and nothing would bring him more peace than to allow his body to sink to the sandy bottom of the ocean.

“Play nice.” His mother had warned him as she pressed a kiss to each of his cheeks. His uncle has given him nothing more than a glare of warning.

As if he was still a boy who feared his elders. As if he was still afraid of an old man in robes.

Now he sits at the high table, at the right hand of his mother. The feast is in full swing, all in his honor, of course. The people of court have not yet been made privy to the fact that this is an engagement dinner, that Prince Ben Organa-Solo, heir to the Alderaanian throne, is to be wed.

Let alone who, or shall he say,  _ what _ , he is to be wed too.

If it was not his own funeral that he was attending, then perhaps he would find the whole situation much more amusing.

There is a clang of silverware against the side of a goblet. The queen rises, cup in hand. She begins to talk and Kylo begins to tune her out, his mind drifting as he idly swirls the mead in his tankard. He watches the amber colored liquid slosh against the sides, watched as a small funnel begins to form in the center.

Once more his heart aches for the sea.

“ _ Ben _ .” His uncle hisses, and it is only then that he realizes all eyes are upon him, his mother’s body is angled towards him, her cup raised in his honor.

Slowly, he too stands. “For Alderaan.” His voice booms across the great hall, his own goblet raised towards the skies.

“For Alderaan.” They echo back.

Together they all drink. For their country, for prosperity, for a bright future and a powerful king upon their throne.

Kylo drinks for other reasons. Some petty, common hopes and dreams, such as the promise that only a horizon can hold - or the gaze of a crew wholly dependent on you, their stares heavy on your back. He drinks for other things too, things beyond his minds comprehension, things that are engraved into the very marrow of his bones. 

_ Destiny _ , the voice purrs in his ear, throaty, seductive and strong.

Mostly Kylo drinks to forget.

\- - - - - - -

She hears her name announced before she enters the hall, her mother by her side. Both women walk with purpose, their strides quick and their heads held high.

Already she can hear the whispers.

_ Witches _ , some call them.  _ Pythoness,  _ others say.

Sorceress. Enchantress. Occultist. Mage.

She has heard them all. 

She pays the hushed tones of the court no mind. Instead her eyes are fixated at the head table. She sees Queen Leia, poised and pretty, threads of silver swimming throughout the dark brown twists of her plaits.

She sees the queen’s brother, his bright eyes piercing, their gaze cautious.

Then she sees him.

The queen rises to her feet. “Tonight we shall drink to one more thing. For if Alderaan is going to have a prosperous future, it is the future we must focus on.”

Her lips curl into a smile, her chin dips down as she looks to her son.

“Tonight we shall celebrate our great kingdom’s future king. To our heir, my son.”

The group cheers, lifting their glasses, as they sing the praises of the prodigal son who has at last returned.

“And,” the Queen silences the room with a single word, a single look. “To our future queen.” Now her brown eyes land upon Rey. Someone has thrust a goblet into her hands. Her grip is strong, but she can feel it waning.

“To the last prince of Alderaan and his engagement to Rey Kanata, High Mage of Takodana.”

Her words are met with silence. The queen raises her glass, drinking deeply, and soon everyone else begins to follow suit.

Rey lifts her goblet, the rim of it brushing her lips. She keeps her eyes fixated on his. Then she drinks, swallowing down the contents whole, drinking every last drop of the wine, for it tastes like bitter poison on her tongue, on her lips, on her teeth.

\- - - - - - -

“I cannot marry her.”

He’s chasing after his mother, his footsteps quick down the castle corridor - but it is of no use. Just like when had been a child, she moves too fast, always a step or two ahead.

_ As a good queen should, _ she would tell him, her hand smoothing back his dark hair before she would press her lips to his forehead, only to then turn on her heel and leave.

She was good at that; leaving. Kylo had quickly grown accustomed to the sight of his mother walking away.

Now, now he is no longer a child. She may still be queen, but he is heir apparent. He is grown, is strong, and if she wants to play this game, then he can play too.

After all, she needs him much more than he needs her.

“So you have objections.” The queen moves to sit on the edge of her chastise, a wave of her hand dismissing the guards. They shut the doors to her private sitting room with a soft thud.

“Of course I have objections.” Kylo snaps back.

“Is she not pretty enough for you?”

He balks at his mother’s words, shaking his head. “No-“

For that was the furthest thing on his mind. She was beautiful, from the curve of her neck to the dusting of freckles on the bridge of her nose. Even the glint in her hazel eyes, that definite gleam that sent a chill shivering down his spine. 

Everything about her was beauty.

The queen was rambling now, was listing every possible reason that her son would protest the union. Every reason except one.

“She’s a mage.” 

Queen Leia arches a brow, her lips pursed. “She is.” She acknowledges with a small nod of her head. “A powerful one. And she will be queen. She  _ will _ be your wife.”

There was another wave of her hands, dismissing him. He knew better than to argue, to fight and protest. It was done, practically written in stone.

He turns on his heel, storms from the room, the doors slamming against the palace walls, causing the guards to jump, their hands on their hilts.

Kylo doesn’t stop walking, doesn’t stop moving. He just keeps going, pressing onward without any end in sight. He feels the control slipping, feels his life becoming less and less his.

He is no longer the commander of his own ship, no longer the captain, the man behind the wheel.

He is nothing but a puppet for them to play with, to dictate and control. 

_ No more _ , he tells himself, his fingers curling at his sides.  _ No more. _

\- - - - - - -

She cannot get his face from her mind. It haunts her, appearing during the day as she stands for hours on end, her arms outstretched until they quiver and ache, as the seamstress and her assistants flutter about, pinning this and draping that.

Even when she lays her head down at night, when she closes her eyes it is his face that she sees. The aquiline bridge of his nose, the curve of his cupid’s bow, the way his plush lips look pressed together. She sees his brandy colored eyes that turned dark when he looked upon her face. 

She sees the way his large hands cradle a goblet, thinks about the way his long fingers would look curled, beckoning forward.

Her mind begins to wander as she imagines how his hair would feel between her fingertips, what heat his body would radiate if it was pressed against hers.

How his lips would taste.

She cannot wash him from her mind. She tries it all; potions, tonics, pastes. She tries meditation, tries to shut away those thoughts, to put them in a box which she locks with a key.

It works, sometimes. Yet then she begins to toss and turn at night, begins to see his face once more and Rey has to wonder, is he as vexed as her? Is he plagued with the image of his bride to be in the very forefront of his mind?

She begins to sleep less. Bags form beneath her eyes. Her mother berates her, as do the seamstress, the ladies in waiting assigned to her, even the Queen herself.

The wedding day looms ahead, much like the gallows after a long trial.

She hasn’t even spoken to him; has not exchanged a single word with the man she is to wed.

She knows nothing of what his voice sounds like, knows nothing about his personality, his wishes, his fears.

All she knows are the tales from the sea, the stories of Kylo Ren. The captain of a ship with black sails, whose wraith is unmatched by another.

She can only imagine what sort of husband he will make, what kind of king.

  
  


\- - - - - - -

Flowers adorn the palace, filling up every vase, every mantle, every little nook and cranny. The tapestries have been rehung after being cleaned. The palace floors have been scrubbed until the stone gleams.

So much preparation. The cooks have been working for weeks, planning courses and baking cakes. Invitations had been sent out. Anyone of importance, of status in society is now in this very room, all gathered and crowded in, like pigs awaiting slaughter.

And now Kylo stood at the end of the aisle as music plays, as everyone stands, waiting for the bride to appear.

The doors open. The music changes.

She enters the room, looking as golden as the sun. She practically glows, her skin is luminous, radiating warmth.

In contrast, her eyes are cold, her mouth is nothing more than a hard line. Her jaw is set, her teeth clenched. Everything about her face screams displeasure, no, not displeasure, for that is a word used when you taste something too sour, when an unpleasant smell is under your nose.

Hate. Her face is nothing but a pair of vivid hazel eyes, a constellation of freckles and hate.

Yet he can not help but take in the exposed skin of her neck, the way her clavicle juts out, and the line of her cleavage, the slight swell of the tops of her breasts. His eyes drift down her form, drinking in every ounce of her.

Yes, she is a vision, dressed in a pale gold gown that everyone else would admire for being the latest fashion. Kylo could care less about the dress. No, he was much more captivated by the woman that wore it.

_ Mage _ , a voice reminds him from the depths of his mind. _ Witch. Enchantress. Cannot be trusted. _ That same voice hisses. 

At first he expects her not to meet his eyes. But what a silly thought. Even Kylo should know better than that. Any ward of Maz Kanata’s will know how to hold eye contact. Even with the man they despise with every bone in their body.  _ Especially _ , the man they hate so much.

They do not exchange words, do not exchange pleasantries or how do you do’s. For a moment, Kylo does not know what is more awkward, marrying a woman without hearing her voice, or making introductions at the end of the aisle in which you are to be wed.

Her lips are pressed tightly. He watches as she tugs the soft flesh between her teeth, biting and chewing on it as if it’s a piece of honeysuckle plucked on a spring walk. 

He finds his eyes drawn to her lips, to her mouth, to the small pink tongue that darts out to soothe the skin that she has bitten too hard.

His mother is speaking now. Is beginning the ceremony. Their hands are joined, and it takes every bit of willpower in his body to not run his thumb against the center of her palm, to stroke her flesh and see if she trembles. 

Their hands are bound, tied together with four strands of ivory cloth. 

_ As this knot is tied, so are your lives now bound. _

Their vows are said. Kylo promises her his bones, his blood, his body. 

“For two to become one.” They speak together, as the ribbon is knotted, tightened around their clasped hands. 

The music swells. Kylo feels something shift, a change in the wind. The hairs stick up at the base of his neck, his skin begins to break out into goosebumps, as if he was suddenly struck by an aching chill.

“You may kiss your bride.”

Her gaze has not left his, has not spared anyone else as much as a glance. But now her eyes are nothing but a tempestuous storm cloud. Now she looks like she wants to run, to flee. Now she looks like she wants to jump at him, whether with her mouth or his fists, he is not certain. To be honest, he doubts she even knows which one she would prefer.

Rather than waiting for her, his bride, no - his  _ wife -  _ to decide, he ducks his head, pressing his mouth to hers.

She doesn’t pull away. She stiffens for a moment, barely takes a breath, then he feels her beginning to relax. So, he pressed forward, his unbound hand hovering above her waist, the pads of his fingertips barely brushing against the elaborate fabric of her dress.

There are shouts in the distance. Sounds of metal clanging metal, of bodies being tossed aside.

The doors burst open. The newlyweds spring apart.

Soldiers in black filter into the room, swords drawn, their faces eager, and their hands clearly twitching to spill blood.

At the very center is their leader, a warrior dressed in silver.

Mayhem ensues.

\- - - - - - -

Chaos has erupted. All Rey sees are bodies moving, darting and fleeing, fighting. The clang of swords and the sounds of screams fill her ears. For a moment she feels completely lost, utterly frozen and uncertain about what to do or where to go.

Then she feels a hand grasping her own, feels her body being tugged forward into gear.

Kylo Ren.

“Come on!” He’s shouting at her as he continues to drag her along. She notes his other hand is poised on the sword attached to his hip, though he has yet to pull it from its sheath. 

Out of more instinct than actual want, Rey runs with her new husband, stumbling over the hem of her skirts, and once more wishing for her more comfortable robes than this bulky wedding gown. Pretty as it might be, practical it was not.

The queen is being rushed out of a side entrance, one Rey had never noticed before. Quickly she looks around, trying to spot her mother in the crowd. The older mage is fighting, casting charms and spells in all directions. 

Their eyes meet. “Go!” Her mother shouts.

Rey fights against the urge to rebel, to rip her hand from Kylo’s and turn to aid her mother.

_ Your duty is not to me anymore. You will be their queen. You need to put your people first, your country, the crown. _

So instead she turns her back on her mother, on the bloodshed and battle. She allows the pirate, no - her  _ groom _ \- to lead her from the carnage as they chase after the skirts of the queen and her guards down the dark corridor.

Even as the heavy wooden door shuts behind them, the sounds of the combat echoes through the torch lit hallway. Everyone’s pace quickens.

“This way.” She hears the queen command.

The passageway twists and turns. They travel left, make a sharp right. Rey feels so turned around, she isn’t sure if she could find her way back even if she wanted to. She lost all track of time. In fact, the only tell tale sign they were actually making any progress was the muffled sounds of battle fading away into the dark.

At some point she realizes her hand is still held by his. She tugs, tries to pry her fingers out of his grasp - to no success.

“Where are we-” She tried to ask, only to be quickly shushed, by whom she could not tell.

Finally they reached the end. A door was pushed open as the group spilled out into an empty back alley, in a corner of the palace grounds that Rey was not familiar with.

“You two need to head south. Put as much distance between yourselves and the kingdom.” The queen was instructing, as her guards kept calling for her, kept pulling her away.

“You are not coming with us?” Kylo presses, his brow furrowed as he steps forward towards his mother.

She gives him a smile that Rey can only describe as sad. She watches as the queen reaches out a hand, as she cups her son’s cheek. “I’m still sovereign. My duty belongs to these people. But  _ you _ , you are the future. You need to stay safe until we can figure where this threat is coming from.”

“You know-”

“Shh.” She silences her son with a knowing look and a tilt of her chin. No longer is she a caring mother, but instead back to the same powerful woman who has sat upon a throne destined for men. 

Even Kylo Ren knows when it is best to bite his tongue.

Now the Queen turns to Rey, fixes her with the same intense gaze. It is only then that Rey realizes they have the same eyes, the mother and son. The same irises - as warm as chocolate, with a bitter coffee center. 

“You know what to do.”

And then she is turning, is racing off, surrounded by guards to a group of waiting horses. 

Rey gives a small nod. Now it is her turn to lead Kylo, it is her turn to show him the way.

He does not go easily.

“What?! Where are we going-” He asks, though now it is Rey who keeps a firm grip on their entwined hands.

“You heard her.” Rey jerks her head back to where the queen had stood moments ago. “I know what to do.”

“But there’s nothing back here. We’re going to meet a dead end. There’s nothing but vines, but a wall-”

He was right. In a matter of seconds, the pair arrived to a tall stone wall without any exit, any entrance in sight.

“Now what?!” He snaps.

She is not certain who lets go first. Perhaps they remove their hands from one another at the same time. Not that it matters. Rey will need both hands for this. 

The sound of shouts is heard in the distance, the sounds of heavy armored footsteps and orders for soldiers to spread out. The enemy has caught their trail, is beginning to close in.

“We need to move-” He’s pulling on her arm, trying to lead her away.

She shrugs out of his grasp, her eyes shut in concentration as she holds her hands out before her.

“We need to  _ go _ !” He practically bellows in her ear, once more his fingers curl around her forearm.

There’s a loud rumble, the sound of the ground beginning to shake, of a shift in the balance of the elements, of fate, of all things mystical and other worldly. A gust of wind comes out of seemingly nowhere, whipping their hair and biting at their skin. Rey feels her skirts beginning to billow, feels as if she is about to be blown away.

She shifts her feet, digs her heels into the earth.

A portal appears before them, made up of nothing but swirling air.

“Go!” She shouts, jerking her head at Kylo. 

The shouts from the soldiers is heard growing closer. Portals were effective in putting distance between oneself and their enemies, but they were hardly strong in the aspect of stealth.

She watches him weighing his options, clearly weary of the magic, but also not wanting to cross paths with the enemy.

“Go!” Rey orders again. Her fingers begin to shake, as the wind picks up speed, as the ground continues to tremble, as if it’s going to split into two and swallow them whole.

Kylo listens that time. He breaks out into a run, and Rey is nipping at his heels, just a moment behind him, a step. She hears the soldiers shouting behind them, knows that they have been spotted, they have been found. She catches the sight of silver out of the corner of her eye, hears a woman roar.

All she can hope is that the Queen made it out safe.

Both bride and groom race into the portal. And in a moment that does not last even the length of a breath nor a blink of an eye, they are no longer on the grounds of the Alderaanian palace. Instead they are stuck in a tremendous downpour on the coast. 

Rey sinks to her knees, her hands dropping as the portal closes behind them. She allows herself to catch her breath, allows herself to tilt her head back, to relish in the cool rain that lands on her face, on her arms, on every inch of exposed skin.

She has gotten them to safety. For now, for this moment, they are safe.

\- - - - - - -

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> slight mention of suicide ideation: rey compares marrying kylo to walking to her death, and has a crossing thought that ending her life would be better than a marriage to him.


	2. but victory's contagious

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> kylo and rey chat, get naked and cuddle all in the name of survival.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this keeps growing. it now has a full mind of it's own and i have no idea how long it will be. all i know is that it's written up to chapter five and i'm nowhere near done. whoops. my bad.
> 
> kaybohls just keep guessing who this is cause it's not who you think it is.

  
[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/182242012@N03/49461667303/in/dateposted-public/)

_ you could try and take us _

_ but victory's contagious _

\- - - - - - -

He loses track of how much time they stand on the beach. Soon their clothes become soaked. Her pale gold dress deepens in color as she simply sits on the sand. What a pair they make, a groom and his bride, complete with her veil and ribbons, leftovers from the hand fasting still knotted around their palms. 

He should feel chilled to the bone, should feel the need to move, to find cover, to figure out a plan. Instead, the adrenaline rush has ended, rendering him utterly numb.

“We need to move.” He yells, competing with the sound of the waves crashing, of the storm clouds swirling overhead. Shelter. Food. Dry clothes.

For a moment he doesn’t think she’s heard him. But then she rises, her movements slow. She’s battling against the dress, but just as he steps forward to offer a hand, his legs stutter.

Her chin is tilted, her jaw set. That same look, the one she wore like an armor as she walked down the aisle. 

He hesitates, falters, despite his outstretched hand.

She brushes past him, silent and stony. 

Kylo Ren has never been a sheep, never the type to simply join the herd. After all, you don’t end up captain of a ship by always just nodding your head, by only following orders.

He follows her.

They walk along the beach. It’s empty, not a single person in sight. Even the seagulls have sought shelter. He can’t see any signs of life.

So many times he wants to tell her to stop, to demand answers. Where were they going? Did she even have a plan? Did she know about the attack, know where his mother was at?

Maybe it was because of the downpour. Perhaps Kylo was still processing, still working through everything that had just happened. Or maybe, what might be the most preposterous reason of them all, he trusts her.

She is his wife, after all. His future queen. Perhaps the reigning queen if his mother did not make it past the soldiers in black.

His fingers curled in towards his palms, he gave a sharp shake of his head. His hair is plastered to his face; his forehead, his cheeks. It sticks to the back and sides of his neck. His boots squish in the sand. His clothes cling to his body like a second skin, making him tug at his collar, to fidget with his sleeves. He feels claustrophobic.

Months at sea have not prepared him for being so damn wet.

Right after he bites his tongue, holding back the same questions that have been reeling in his mind since they began this journey, he hears her shout something.

“What?!” He quickens his pace, trying to close the distance between them. “What did you say?”

She jerks her chin forward, and he follows her line of sight, squinting as he tries to see through the heavy rain.

His brow furrows, he’s about to turn to her, to ask what she’s talking about - and then he sees it. A tower, long and thin, with barnacles encroaching its side, lays ahead. Its camouflaged well, built from stone that blends in easily with the jagged rocks of the cliffside behind it.

He’s about to ask her if she knew the tower was here, if the teleportation had been deliberate, or if this was all one giant stroke of sheer, dumb luck.

But already she’s moving, surprisingly well over the rocky stretch of beach. He catches a flash of tan skin as she lifts her skirts, and spots the smallest of glimpses of an ankle, shin, and calf.

He drinks it in, completely enthralled by such small bites. 

His mother might be dead. His kingdom - his home - has been attacked, forcing him to flee. And all he can focus on is the smallest exposure of a mage’s legs. No - not some mage - His wife.

He gives another shake of his head, feeling more and more like a wet sheep dog.

He watches her reach the wooden door at the base of the tower, watches her press her body against it before it swings open. Then she’s gone, disappearing entirely from sight.

Another wave crashes upon the rocks. The air turns colder, the temperature beginning to drop as the sun begins to set along the horizon. The heavens are still open, still pouring buckets of rain upon them.

Kylo, once again, proceeds to follow her.

  
  


\- - - - - - -

  
  
  


The tower smells of moisture, the air is musty and stale. Mildew grows in the corners, and a layer of sand covers nearly every surface. But it is warm, it is dry, and, most importantly, it is safe.

At least for now.

With a twitch of her fingers, she lights a fire in the hearth. The room is small, and she mutters words beneath her breath, enchanting the smoke until it is rendered invisible. Then she turns to the room. A gust of wind expels from her fingertips, blowing away the cobwebs and filth. It wasn’t a perfect job. The debris just hit the stone walls, gathering in the corners and crevices of the stone. But at least now she would not have to sleep on top of a layer of sand.

Her fingers move to her dress next. The garment is soaked through to the bone, making it heavy and cumbersome. She was so ready to be rid of it, ready to shed the layers. All week everyone had been commenting on the beauty of the dress, on how it was the latest fashion, how it was worthy of a queen.

And they were all speaking the truth. It was a stunning gown. Rey had allowed herself a moment, just a moment to look into the mirror and appreciate it for what it was. But that moment passed, and once more it felt like a target, like a prisoner’s garb. It was another reason, another symbol and sign of what lay ahead; of the terrible things to come.

So she felt no pity nor remorse as she began to yank and pull on the garment, tugging at the laces and trying to undo the work of the three women that had gotten her into it.

“What are you doing?!” His voice was sharp, like the inhale of a cold breath. 

“What does it look like?!” Rey gritted her teeth, her fingers were chilled to the bone, the tips pink and numb as she struggled to undo the bodice. “I didn’t teleport us here to die soaking wet and cold.”

“There’s a fire-” Kylo was frowning now, his features looking torn between wanting to help and being taken aback.

“Which will keep me warm once I’m out of this gown.” Rey bites back. “Do you know how many layers there are? How long it would take until I’m dry?” She manages to get the bodice undone, begins to push the gown off her shoulders and down over her hips, until it sits like a giant puddle of damp satin around her feet. 

“After all,” She raises an eyebrow as she steps from the heap of fabric. “We’re married. Surely it is expected for me to take my clothes off on our wedding night.”

His eyes meet hers. She notices the way the way he works his jaw, the way his lips seem to give a twitch. Kylo opens his mouth, perhaps to protest or offer a smart comment of his own. Instead he purses his lips, gives an audible swallow and then turns his back on her.

His actions scream proper prince, not swashbuckling pirate. Rey has been on enough ships to know that rules of society and propriety go out the window the moment the ship drifts from the dock. 

“What manners,” The comment is murmured under her breath. She removes her corset, happy to be rid of the stifling thing. The rest of her undergarments are made of thin linen that should dry quickly, but there’s a chill in the air despite the crackling fire.

Her life is worth more than saving face. So, the rest of her clothing is added to the pile on the floor. The moment the cold air meets her skin, goose flesh begins to break out. Her nipples harden, her teeth are on the verge of chattering, but already she begins to feel the chill leaving her bones. Rey makes quick work of hanging her things, draping the items over the sparse furniture.

She finds some blankets in the bottom of a trunk. They smell musty, but will do. 

“You should take your clothes off.” 

He turns at that, but catches himself before he fully faces her. Instead, she follows his line of sight towards a random spot on the wall.

For some reason it floods her with a sense of satisfaction as she studies his profile. Historic, she thinks.His nose is Roman, strong and bold, while his lips look enticingly soft, plush and wide. Individually, none of his features make sense. But there’s something about the way they’re all brought together, something about the warm color of his eyes, something striking about the dark mop of hair that sits on top of his head, on his upper lip and chin.

“I’m fine.” 

The words come out strained, snapping her out of her thoughts and study. She shifts her grip on the blanket, drawing it closer over her shoulders. “Stop being stupid.” Rey rolls her eyes as she steps towards him. Her limbs protest, still feeling sleepy from the cold. “If it makes you feel any better I can turn my back. Close my eyes.”

He growls at her, clearly annoyed. She watches as he rolls his eyes, and she waits to hear the sound of his teeth breaking due to how tightly his mouth is clenched. 

She waits another moment before speaking again. “I would have thought differently from the infamous Kylo Ren.”

“Captain.” His eyes meet hers. “Captain Kylo Ren.”

“Captain.” She patronizes him with a small dip of her head, a smirk twitching at the corners of her lips. “I didn’t think nudity would be your biggest enemy.”

He huffs out a quick exhale. “It’s not.”

All she has to do is motion towards his body, raising her eyebrows as if daring him to prove her wrong.

His fingers begin their work on his collar. He undoes buttons in a flash, strips the drenched tunic from over his head, and it falls to the floor with a wet plop. He kicks off his boots, yanks off his stockings and adds them to the haphazard pile. 

Her eyes trail after his every movement. Rey watches as his large fingers make nimble work of garment after garment. She drinks in the skin of his back, the way freckles and moles dot his skin. There are scars too, all at various stages of healing. Some still look pink and puckered, while others have turned as alabaster as his skin. 

_ Not very tan for a pirate _ , she thinks, but then he’s turning around, exposing the defined muscles of his chest and abdomen. She takes note of the trail of dark hair that begins on his stomach, drawing her gaze downwards until it disappears behind the waistband of his trousers.

“Are you done watching?” 

His voice abruptly breaks the spell, and now it is Rey’s turn for her cheeks to flush. She knows turning away so suddenly would be an admission of guilt. So she tilts her chin, lets her eyes meet his.

“You’re my husband.” She says plainly. “Surely you were expecting this for your wedding night.”

He holds her gaze, and she notices the way his eyes begin to narrow, takes in the way he jerks his hand, undoing the ties of his trousers with rough, abrupt movements. 

“No, no I was not.”

She is taken aback by his stark confession, rendered mute. He is still moving, going through the motions to strip off the last of his clothes until he is left in nothing but the final garment. 

At this time, Rey is still staring at him. Her eyes continue to drink in his form, perhaps not due to lust, but instead to quench this odd curiosity that is bubbling in the pit of her stomach. For so long she had heard nothing but stories of the pirate captain, who commandeered a ship with black sails and left nothing but blood in its wake. Now she had this very man before her, her  _ husband, _ and he was behaving like a blushing school boy who had never seen a woman before.

“You are nothing like I expected.” She mutters beneath her breath, as she adjusts the blanket around her. She’s beginning to feel warmth in her limbs again, but the storm continues to rage outside. 

He frowns as he takes a step towards the chest. “And what did you expect?” He says the words with a sneer, as if he is the one mocking her, opposed to it really being the other way around.

Rey takes her time. She moves around the tower before settling on the floor by the hearth.The ground is cold as she curls her legs underneath herself. She takes her time, getting herself situated, and the next time she speaks it is the crackling flames that she stares at, rather than the half dressed man behind her.

  
  


“I heard stories about, you know. What you’ve done at sea. Who you’ve done things too.” She pauses, pressing her lips together. “Death follows you everywhere, is always just behind your shoulder, whispering delicious things into your ear. Some won’t even speak your name, afraid that it’s sealing their fate.”

He stays quiet, not denying nor confirming anything she’s said. 

“I have to wonder, why even return? Why come back to a kingdom that would turn on you the moment it learns the truth?”

  
  


\- - - - - - -

Kylo has wondered the same thing. Over and over again, the question has swirled in his mind. Just because his mother was queen did not necessarily mean he was meant to be king.

He always thought he had more of his father in him, anyways.

No one else saw it. They saw him as nothing more than a product of his environment, a proper prince who was destined to wear a crown and sit on a throne from the moment he was born.

How quickly they forget.

After all, it was not the Organa’s that were meant to sit upon the throne. No, by law the kingdom should have passed to the eldest of Vader’s children, to Luke. His mother’s twin brother had been raised as the future heir. He had been given the best tutors, had been given lessons on governing, on trade routes and foreign negotiations. As the first born, it was Luke who had been destined to be king.

But then he had given it all away, for a life of solitude and reflection, to live as a hermit off the coast of Alderaan. 

Ben had been ten years old when his uncle abdicated the throne. 

His mother was quickly coronated, his father made a prince. And then there was Ben, suddenly the heir apparent. Ben - who was now being told that one day he would be king. 

Destiny was a fickle thing, and even at such a young age, barely a decade old, Ben knew that this should not be his path. Rulers were meant to be fair, to be calm and level headed. Rulers were not meant to let their hearts decide. Rulers were not supposed to be attached, to allow their emotions to overrun everything else.

The moment he could, Kylo ran. He was a coward, hiding from what everyone was telling him was destiny. He was not any better than his uncle. He was a coward, a fraud. 

But the moment he stepped onto a ship, the moment he could feel the salty ocean breeze on his skin, Kylo had known he was right where he belonged.

Life at sea was not easy. Living outside of the law came with a price, and that price was blood. It was said your first kill was the hardest, but not for Kylo. No, once he had a taste, he found that all he wanted was more.

Kings had blood on their hands, he would tell himself. Kings were responsible, could be the deciding factor of who lives and who dies. Kings sent young boys into war, sent witches to the gallows. Kings made orphans, made widows, made mothers bury their young far too soon.

The only difference between a monarch’s hands and a pirate’s, was that a pirate’s fingers were covered in calluses, while a king’s was covered in jewels.

Kylo did not want to be a king covered in jewels. He would much rather be a pirate, with dirt under his nails and scars on his skin. He would rather be out there, fighting with his sword, knowing whose lives he was ending at the tip of his blade than perched on a throne.

So when she asked the question, once more Kylo found himself pondering it over and over again in his mind. At the very least it made for a good distraction; something that he could think about opposed to what had happened at his, no,  _ their _ wedding, at where his mother was right now, on what was going to happen next.

It gave him an excuse to drag his eyes away from where the blanket fell from her shoulder, from the stretch of freckled skin that Kylo found his fingers itching to touch.

He would love nothing more than to devour her whole; to lick warmth back into every inch of her supple body. 

It was why he was so hesitant to remove his clothes. He could handle the cold and the damp, he had spent months on end on a ship, for fuck’s sake. But Kylo knew the moment they were both wearing nothing more than some mildew scented blankets, when the only barrier remained was a flimsy bit of cloth, there would be no more self control.

Of course the damn mage wouldn’t stop badgering him about sickness, about how he was going to catch his death if he remained dressed even a moment longer. So Kylo took his time, he removed each article at a painstakingly pace, and tried to ignore the heat that was surging in the pit of his belly, at the way blood was beginning to run to his cock.

His fingers shook as he hooks his thumb along the waist of his pants. He began to pull, his eyes fixated upon her face. He loves the way she averts her gaze, the way she suddenly turns her head aside, causing the ends of her hair to cascade down her back like a stream of water. He likes the way the apples of her cheeks begin to tinge pink, which may be because of the fire - or may be due to something else entirely.

For the first time since they have landed on this beach, Kylo feels as if he might have the upper hand.

But then there is a change in the tide, a shift. He watches as she tilts her chin, as she brings her eyes to meet his own. Her gaze is intense, and Kylo finds himself getting lost in the iris of her eyes. The color is not quite brown, yet also not quite green. Instead it is an amalgamation, a mixture of moss and the bark of a tree. And at the center of it all is a fire that burns hotter than any mortal flame.

At first he is so distracted by her eyes he does not notice the way her grip on the blanket has loosened. He does not see the fabric fall away from her upper body until his eyes flicker down towards the movement. 

The tip of Kylo’s tongue darts out to wet his lips. He sees the stretch of her neck, the way her collar bones jut out. He sees nothing but tan skin, speckled and scarred, and a pair of small, round breasts, nipples rosy and hard.

Kylo jerks his head, abruptly forcing himself to look away. His thumb drops from his waistband and he attempts to ignore the way his heartbeat is pounding in his ears and the tightness in his pants.

“What?” She practically purrs the word, and Kylo finds himself gritting his teeth, exhaling a huff of hot air from his nostrils as he roughly retrieves a blanket from the chest. 

“Surely you’ve seen a naked body before.” Rey carries on, and he can hear her moving, can hear the sound of her body shifting behind him. “Surely you’ve already known your fair share of women.”

He has. More than a young prince probably should, but perhaps not enough for a pirate captain to brag about. Not one of them burned as bright as her, though. Never before had Kylo been affected like this. 

What magic even was this? What sorcery? It was always said to never trust a mage, and now Kylo was beginning to see why. 

“You’re playing with fire.” The words come out like a growl. Suddenly the idea of returning to the cold downpour seemed to welcome him. The room was feeling too hot, the air stifling. Kylo wanted nothing more than to walk out that door and straight into the ocean, storm or not.

The sea would welcome him like an old friend. Drowning would be a better death than this slow torture.

This girl was trying to filet him alive.

“I’m your wife.” She tries again.

Kylo scoffs, offering nothing more than a wave of his hand. He will not turn, will not look at her. But already the image of her bare breasts is playing on a loop inside of his mind. The way her chest rose and fell, the way her flesh had been golden, kissed by the sun. The way she had looked at him, lips slightly parted, the tiniest glimpse of her soft pink tongue visible behind teeth.

No, forget filet. She would eat him alive. She would want to taste his blood, would want it to drip down her chin as she drank every ounce of life from his body, as she sucked every last breath from his lungs.

He feels the tips of her fingers brushing against his back. The touch is faint, barely a whisper across his skin. His body goes rigid. For a moment, all Kylo can do is freeze. Then he is turning, spinning on his heel and capturing her outstretched hand in his own.

His eyes are burning into hers. He refuses to look anywhere else. “Do not act like this was a love match, that this is what either of us wanted. This was for politics and power. This was our mothers playing God and calling it destiny.”

He throws her hand from his grasp, the gesture rough. Kylo tries to ignore the way his skin is buzzing from her mere touch. 

Her jaw is now set, but she does not look away. They are at a standstill, a stalemate of sorts. Neither is willing to call the others bluff, nor walk away to count their damages and lick their wounds. 

Kylo is the first one to break away. “Go to sleep.” He means to bark the order, as if she is nothing more than another member of his crew. Instead the words come out too quiet, too soft. He turns, taking his blanket to the other side of the room. He lays upon the floor, covering his tall frame the best he can with the small fabric. In the end he opts to keep his shoulders covered and his pants on. They are still damp, still uncomfortable and cold, but Kylo refuses to remove the final barrier. He refuses to give in to her.

Not yet.

Time begins to pass at a slow crawl. The storm is still raging outside, the wind battering against the tower walls like an intruder intent on getting in. At some point, Kylo feels his eyelids growing heavy, feels the very last of the adrenaline leave his veins. He must drift off, but it is a fitful sleep, one full of strange dreams, visions of wave after wave pounding onto his body, and a light off in the distance. 

He sees himself on a throne, dressed in black and with a woman draped across his lap. He cannot see her face, but already he knows it has to be  _ her _ .

Together they rule, side by side, as one.  _ One soul _ , he hears a voice whispering into his ear.  _ One mind. Destiny. Destiny. Destiny. _

Kylo wakes with a start. 

He is still lying on the floor, the blanket having drifted during his uneasy slumber. The fabric pools around his stomach, covering his abdomen and not much else. His pants are still damp, except now they also feel stiff.

The fire has begun to die down in the hearth, nothing but small flames still flicker above the glowing embers. The storm is still swirling outside, though the wind has died down.

He tilts his head, his eyes adjusting to the dimly lit room as he scans his surroundings. He cannot see her anywhere. His pulse began to race, as he begins to think about how she left him. How she must have been waiting for him to fall asleep so she could slip away. 

Fucking mages. Witches cannot be trusted.

Kylo moves to roll over, to turn some more… and that’s when he feels it. She’s laying beside him, her back to his. Not quite touching but close enough that one small move would close the gap.

He lays back down, shifts on his side, his heartbeat beginning to calm and the angry thoughts drifting from his mind. Kylo moves back barely an inch. Just enough that he can feel her spine pressed against his, that he can feel the rise and fall of every breath, that he can sense her presence - even as once more his eyes begin to droop and sleep becomes inevitable.

_ She is warm, _ is the last thing he thinks before he drifts off to sleep.

This time does not dream of such tortuous things. No, instead Kylo sees flashes of a bright smile, of flushed skin basking in the sunlight, and a glimpse of bright hazel eyes.

\- - - - - - - 

  
  



	3. there's a humming in the restless summer air

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> after kylo and rey are forced to flee, they wind up on the infamous pirate ship, the silencer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for kaybohls. all i can say is whoever you think is writing this... you're wrong. ;)

[](https://www.flickr.com/photos/182242012@N03/49527600711/in/dateposted-public/)

_ there's a humming in the restless summer air _

_ and we're slipping off the course that we prepared _

\- - - - - - - 

  
  


Daylight was what woke her. It was streaming in through the small cracks in the foundation.

The storm had passed. Rey can make out the sounds of waves crashing, albeit now at a much calmer pace.

Her body feels stiff from spending the night on the floor - but warm. She was vaguely aware of a firm presence behind her, but she wasn’t sure if she felt relief or disappointment at the fact that Kylo Ren had not left during the night.

At some point the blanket had slipped from her shoulders. Rey takes a hold of the ends as she moves to stand. 

Once on her feet, she begins to observe the sleeping form of Kylo Ren.

His blanket had also moved during the night, leaving his chest and stomach exposed. He is lying on his back, one arm tucked behind his head while the other lies at his side.

Her eyes drift over his face; the constellation of freckles and moles, the scar that runs across his brow bone, over his eye and down along his cheek.

_ He’s handsome _ , is the first thought that crosses her mind. Instantly she rejects it, pushing it away.

So many mages had been seduced throughout history for a pair of pretty eyes. Perhaps that was why there were so few of them left.

No, Rey was determined not to become another failure in the history books, not another mage who spread their legs and allowed their power to slip from their control.

Nonetheless, she continues to study him; his broad chest, the defined muscles of his abdomen, his pale skin, and - in contrast - the trail of dark, wiry hairs that begin on his stomach and disappear into the top of his pants.

Rey nudges him in the side with her foot. He doesn’t awaken, doesn’t even move. She tries again, kicking him harder this time.

He grunts, opening his eyes and instantly squinting against the bright sun. 

“Get up.” Rey commands him before she turns, moving to collect her clothes where they had been abandoned on the floor. They’re still damp, but now that she has had the chance to rest, her powers are not as depleted.

With a flick of her wrist, a stream of air is summoned, effectively drying the garments - albeit leaving them cold.

Rey doesn’t worry about modesty as she drops the blanket and begins to dress. She can feel his hot gaze on her bare ass as Rey bends over, grabbing her shift. 

“You didn’t want to look last night.” She points out, straightening out as she tugs the garment on over her head.

His silence serves as an admission of guilt.

They both dress quietly. Rey pulls on her stockings and her shoes, but when it comes to the wedding dress, all she can do is run her fingertips over the exquisite fabric. Despite being dry, it is still looking worse for wear; wrinkled and stained. The hem is already tattered, and though it is perhaps not anything that a skilled seamstress could fix, Rey is not certain if the dress is worth being saved.

It’s not a practical garment. It’s bulky, difficult to move in, to run. Too many layers and pieces. It’s a hindrance rather than a help.

Burning it would be an act of kindness, a fate worthy of a dress that represented nothing more than bloodshed, destruction, and the ending of one’s freedom.

“Can’t you use your magic?” 

His voice pulls her from her thoughts. At first, she wants to scoff. Why waste magic on restoring a dress? But then she understands that he is speaking as a pirate, not a prince. She needs something to wear. Certainly the dress could be transformed into a more practical outfit.

“I could.” She answers truthfully. “But even the smallest of magic demands its price. I’m trying to decide if the sacrifice is worth it for a pair of trousers and a cloak.”

“Besides,” Rey moves away from the dress, her verdict still uncertain. “We’re not going anywhere anytime soon.”

At that, Kylo balks. “What?!” His eyes narrow. “You cannot expect us to just wait here. We’re sitting ducks.”

She rolls her eyes, but she can feel her body beginning to tense, can feel her teeth starting to clench together. “The plan is for us to wait here until the Brotherhood can extract us.”

“The Brotherhood of Mages?” He blinks, his anger temporarily replaced by disbelief. “I thought that had been disbanded.”

“We are low on numbers, but we are still here.”

He sets his jaw, his fingers moving to palm the back of his neck. Funny, how in such a short time Rey has noticed so many of his tics, of little telltales that he does when he’s frustrated or annoyed.

Then again, she is his wife. Perhaps she’s taken to her duties better than she thought.

“The point is,” Rey continues, her voice firm and loud. “We are staying here. Maz said-”

“Maz could be dead.”

She turns her head aside, and for a moment she allows his words to hang in the air, to allow them to sink in. Despite everything they went through, that was not an outcome that Rey had prepared for.

How foolish of her. How weak and stupid.

He was right. Her mother could be dead. She had stayed behind to defend the castle, to allow Rey and the monarchs a chance to escape. She very much could have sacrificed her life for the sake of theirs, a sacrifice that Rey knew her mother would be willing to make. 

Just the thought of Maz’s lifeless body lying on the floor of the palace is enough to form a lump in her throat. But she swallows it down. She cannot let what if’s allow her to sway from the plan.

She opens her mouth, ready to tell him just as much, when a loud boom cuts her off. Then there’s a strange whistling, like something heavy moving through the air. She looks up towards the ceiling of the tower, trying to place that sound, trying to figure out what it is, why it sounds familiar.

“Get down!” Kylo bellows, and before Rey can register what is happening, the ground is shaking beneath them, the tower walls are beginning to crumble and his arms are encircling around her waist, tackling her to the ground, his body shielding her own.

Then it hits her.

Cannonfire.

\- - - - - - -

Kylo wants nothing more than to rub it in her face, to say the words ‘I told you so’. Adrenaline is coursing through his veins. His heartbeat is threatening to burst from his chest, and his body is sprawled over hers, offering the only protection he has.

Now is not the time for ‘I told you so’s’.

The dust has just begun to settle. There’s a ringing in Kylo’s ears, but he knows they have only but a few seconds, minutes at most, before the next canon is fired. Rocks are still falling around them, aftershocks from the blast.

“Can you get us out of here?!” Kylo moves, still hovering over her, his back arched and his hands gripping her shoulders as she coughs. She’s trying to rise to her feet, and Kylo continues to hold her, tries to provide any aid that he can. 

She’s quick to shrug out of his grip, but she stumbles on her feet and his hands are already on her waist, holding her steady.

She does not fight his help the second time.

“I think-” She’s looking around, and Kylo can see the wheels turning inside of her mind. “Just give me a minute.”

“We don’t  _ have _ a minute-”

“ _ Just give me a minute _ .” Rey growls, and all Kylo can do is nod. She’s doing the best she can, a voice murmurs in his ear, one that vaguely sounds like his mother. Kylo is quick to ignore it, to push it away. 

She’s murmuring underneath her breath, moving her fingers as her skin begins to glisten with perspiration, strands of hair sticking to her forehead and neck. 

He strains his ears, and Kylo swears that he can hear it, the distant sound of commanders shouting ‘fire’.

“Rey-” He says her name as a warning.

She gives a small shake of her head, is still working, muttering spells and thrusting her arms forward, to no avail.

There’s that boom again, the familiar noise that had always sounded like victory to Kylo’s ears. But that was at sea, that was when he was on his ship, black sails fully rigged as the bow cut effortlessly through the waves. 

The Silencer could not be matched for speed. No other ship could out run it.

And when they tried? Well that was what the canons were for.

But he was not on his ship. He was not out at sea, with a full crew at his command.

Instead he was a sitting duck, trapped with nothing more than old stone walls to protect him, and a mage who was unable to summon an escape route.

No, not a mage. His wife.

Kylo braces himself. His arms curl around her waist, his grip tight as he draws her form against his chest. He closes his eyes as the boom of the canon echoes in his ears. 

The walls began to rattle. More debris begins to rain down, and somehow Kylo knows this is the end. They will be buried underneath the rubble, their bodies crushed. Perhaps they would then be left alone, free to remain beneath the fallen tower as their final resting place. Or maybe their bodies would be uncovered, dragged back to the capital or wherever their enemies hailed from, as evidence of the end of the Skywalker bloodline.

As a last ditch effort, Kylo threw a hand up. He knew it was useless, knew it was nothing more than a final attempt to keep her alive. He had long ago come to terms with his mortality but she? She was young. She had more to give this world than a man who lived a lie of a life, with blood on his hands.

He waits - but death does not come. The rocks do not fall, and no longer does he hear the sound of cannon fire. 

When Kylo opens his eyes, he fully expects to see a different scene. Perhaps the mage has come through, has managed to transport them away in the knick of time. 

But it’s the tower they still stand in. The walls have fallen, but the stones are sprawled out in piles of rubble along the beach, as if by a stroke of luck or the grace of some gods, they had been chosen to be spared.

Kylo realizes then, that it was not luck at all.

An invisible shield has been conjured over their bodies. It is only when his eyes dart to Rey, that he realizes this is not any magic of her doing. No, it can’t be, because the magic is coming from him.

She stares back at him, her hazel eyes wide, maybe with shock, or maybe it is fear. Her gaze keeps moving between his face and his hand, before the shouts of soldiers draw them both back to reality. The enemy is the issue at hand. Everything else can be filed away for later.

He doesn’t get a good look at the soldiers in the distance, but he can make out a glimmer of silver amongst the sea of black. It is the same group that had invaded their wedding.

Rey is already working, already summoning a portal before them. It is only once her fingers loop through his that Kylo lowers his hand, dropping the force field as the couple rush away from the beach.

Kylo has no idea where they’re going, but it has to be better than here. He is beginning to feel as if they are cats who are running out of lives.

\- - - - - - -

She doesn’t know why she does it. It’s not a smart move, not part of the plan. They were supposed to stay put, to wait for word from the Brotherhood. If anything would go awry, then they had a rendezvous point already picked out.

This was not that point. This was nowhere near it.

Because she had seen the Prince do magic. Now everything has changed.

She had been ready to die, and she had been ready to greet it like an old friend. Death had been around her, had dictated so much of her life, it would not surprise her if her end came sooner rather than later. 

There could be worse ways to go. Being crushed did not sound like a particularly quick, painless death - but it was better than being captured by the enemy. And at least if she was to lie beneath the rubble of the tower, waiting for her heart to stop beating and the final bit of breath to leave her lungs, she would not be alone.

Still, she was frantically trying to summon a portal. She kept moving her hands, kept racking her brain for places to go. It could be anywhere, just not here. 

Then she felt him. He was so warm, so solid as he covered his body with hers.  _ He’s just trying to save his own skin _ , she told herself.  _ He wants to live, he wants to get out of here - and you are his only hope. _

But it didn’t feel like a selfish act. No, it felt like something a husband would do for his wife, something you did for the person you loved.

She was being foolish. She was becoming distracted, becoming attached. 

And then the sound of the cannon hitting its target was drowning out her thoughts, the loud sound overcoming her senses. She waited for the pain to begin, waited for the blackness to consume them both.

It never came.

Seconds passed. It felt like an eternity. Rey opened her eyes, she turned her head to look towards the sky and that’s when she saw it.

The last Prince of Alderaan had summoned a shield. Magic was pouring from his fingertips, casting a spell of protection around them. Pieces of rock bounced off of it, and dust curled in the air around them, clouding their view. But inside their little bubble, they were untouched, unscathed. They were safe.

Rey knew now what she needed to do.

\- - - - - - -

Familiar scents and sounds flooded his scenes. He could hear the bustle of the dockworkers calling to one another, of the drunken sailors singing their songs despite the early hour. Seagulls cawed as they circled overhead. 

The docks. She has transported them to the docks.

And not just any docks, but the ones in the southernmost corner of the kingdom. The kind of docks that upstanding merchants steered clear of, where only the Mr. Smith’s of the shipping world bothered to keep their ships.

It was the kind of place notorious for pirates.

And, it was also a home base, of sorts, for the  _ Silencer _ .

She had, in a sense, taken him home.

His fingers were still entwined with hers, and Kylo doesn’t protest as she pulls him into a dark corner. Their sudden appearance had not been noted, at least not by anyone obvious, and they can hardly march around in their state of partial dress.

Maybe Kylo would not catch a lot of eyes, but a woman on the docks in her shift? Even down in these parts that would catch more than one man’s eye.

“You brought me to the docks-” Kylo begins to say, his head bent as they crowd together in the narrow alleyway, their voices low as to not be overheard.

“Can you trust them?” She demands.

“Who? My crew?”

“Can you trust them?” She presses again, and this time Kylo nods. 

“With my life.”

“Good,” She releases his hand, and Kylo is surprised at how empty his palm feels, how useless and cold. She’s moving her fingers, muttering words beneath her breath and suddenly they are dressed in simple plain trousers and tunics. 

“I can’t do it for long,” Rey explains, already on the move to step out from the shadows. “But it will last until we can get to your boat.”

“Ship.” The correction is a slip of the tongue, the kind he’s always making to those members of court who couldn’t tell a mast from a damn porthole.

She shoots him a glare, and Kylo has to bite the inside of his cheeks to stop a smirk from spreading across his lips.

The Silencer is kept at the very last port, but Rey is good for her magic. The illusion of their clothes last until they have stepped onto the ship, and not a moment more. The crew begins to hoot and holler, some protesting that a woman shouldn’t be on board, while others begin to curtsy and bow.

Kylo opens his mouth to berate them, to remind them of their place - but he finds his words useless.

Rey has transformed one of the boatswains into an eel. It slithered uselessly on the wooden planks of the deck, until one of the young powder monkeys has pity and nudges it overboard with his foot.

He feels his chest swell with something that can only be described as pride, and his eyes can’t help but to follow her form as she pushes past the rest of the crew in order to head below deck.

“We are setting sail,  _ now _ .” Kylo bellows, and the crew needs no other warning. They jump into action, the quartermaster shouting commands as they ready the ship to leave the harbor.

Then he crosses the deck to follow her. How quickly he has become accustomed to trailing after her. To be honest, Kylo finds he doesn’t even mind. 

Where she leads, he will follow.

\- - - - - - -

It doesn’t take long to find the captain’s quarters. After all, it is the only room below deck with the best view. She finds an unopened bottle of rum on his desk, and Rey magically removes the cork before she begins to take swig after swig. The dark liquor burns down her throat, but she welcomes the sensation. 

Her penance, perhaps, for disobeying orders. For choosing to not put her faith, her trust, with her mother, her  _ people, _ and instead protecting some man she has just met. No, not just some man. Her husband. As if those words mean anything. As if the vows they made had any merit behind them.

After all, they were just words. And people broke their words all the time. So why did Rey suddenly feel convicted to keep hers?

She took another swig from the bottle.

The door to the quarters swung open, and Rey knew it was him without even turning around. 

“You can do magic.” She states it for what it is; a fact. 

He appears beside her, silently takes the bottle, and she watches as he takes a long drink, his throat bobbing with every swallow.

_ Apparently the burn doesn’t bother him either, _ she thinks, pressing her lips together in a thin line.

“No one knows. I have...“ He pauses, drinks again before abruptly thrusting the bottle back into her hands. “I have kept it hidden for a long, long time.”

She knows better than to ask why. Mages couldn’t be trusted. Kings and queens wanted to utilize their powers - yet the court magicians were the first to end up with daggers in their backs.

It was one of the reasons there were few of them left.

And the last mage who had sat upon the throne….

“You didn’t want to become your grandfather.” Another statement, washed down with another drink.

“It was my mother’s idea.” Kylo turns, leaning his shoulder against the wall of the ship. “Her and my father, they swore everyone to secrecy. A blood vow.”

Blood magic was the oldest kind, the most sacred - and the most difficult to undo. 

The realization came to her both slowly and all at once. “My mother knew.” Slowly Rey leans forward, one hand gripping the window sill while the other is still curled around the neck of the bottle.

Maz was a gifted mage, after all. One of the few who would know how to cloak a magician Prince. No one knew more about blood magic than her mother.

Which was why she was so insistent on this match, on having Rey wed to him despite her protests.

One mage on the throne was a gift. But two? It would be unstoppable. It would forever alter the kingdom. 

He furrows his brow, reaches for the bottle, but this time when his fingers brush against hers, Rey does not release custody.

For a moment they both just stood there, his hand covering hers, just like his body in the crumbling tower.

He clears his throat before he speaks, his eyes still transfixed upon their hands. “I haven’t used magic in such a long, long time. It never worked when I needed it before. I thought.. I thought I had pushed it away for so long that now it wasn’t there any more.”

“No,” Rey softly shakes her head, “Magic isn’t like that. It’s something more. Something that flows through your blood, that lives in the marrow of your bones.”

He lifts his eyes to meet hers. “No one can know.” Kylo says, his head ducked, his face mere inches from hers. “You need to promise me you won’t tell anyone.”

“You can’t keep hiding this, Kylo.” She no longer feels the bottle, only the warmth of his skin on hers. “You can’t keep burying it. It’s not something to be ashamed of.”

“I will  _ not _ be like my grandfather.” He jerks the bottle from her grasp and begins to move away from her, pacing angrily back and forth across the room.

The room feels cold, and Rey finds herself stepping towards him, though what she’s seeking even she does not know. “There’s good in magic too.” She insists, her hands twisting the fabric of her dress just for something to do. “Look at today. You saved us.”

“That was a coincidence.” He waves his hand, dismissing the idea as he moves to raise the rim of the bottle to his lips.

“No,” Rey vehemently shakes her head, and now she is reaching for the rum bottle, stopping it before he can take a drink. “That was  _ you _ . You are not your grandfather.”

Their eyes meet, and for a moment Rey feels something unspoken, a current that was running through her body and into his. It’s a type of magic, one invisible and unspoken. One that she knows nothing about, but feels entirely intoxicated by. It leaves her wanting more. 

Her gaze flickers to his lips, and suddenly Rey is overcome with the urge to close the distance, to touch him, to taste him.

All she wants to do is devour him whole.

Against every urge in her body, against every judgement in her mind, Rey releases the bottle and steps back. It’s like moving out of a fog, and though she is gaining clarity, her body is practically buzzing, itching for something more.

“I should go. I need air.” She mutters, avoiding his eyes as she attempts to side step past him.

Instead she bumps into something solid and warm; him - or, more particularly - his chest. 

“Stay.”

She risks it all by lifting her chin and returning his stare. His eyes burn like fire, the bitter coffee color morphing into something more like ignited anthracite. Such a look should scare her, should send her running from this ship before it departs from shore.

He lifts the rum to his lips yet again, but his eyes remain fixated on Rey the entire time. She doesn’t miss the way he drags his gaze down over her face, her neck, her chest. Lower and lower it moves, studying every inch of her body.

Her face flushes. The room feels warm. Rey suddenly remembers how thin her shift is, how very few layers remain between her naked form being exposed. She feels her nipples beginning to pebble beneath the linen, and Rey is not sure if the reaction is the result of his eyes on her, or the temperature in the room. Perhaps both.

Their breath becomes mingled as the space between them begins to diminish. He smells like salt and the sea. The top of his shirt is loose, the buttons undone, and she cannot help but notice how it dips into a deep v. Her eyes roam over the exposed skin, drinking in the hard planes of his chest, the peaks and valleys of corded muscle, all while she can feel his own gaze fixated on her face.

Rey should feel ashamed, gawking at a man like he’s the last meal that she ever wants to eat.

Then again, he is her husband.

Instinctively she outstretches her hand, but what she’s reaching for, Rey does not know. Maybe for him, maybe to feel him, to touch him, to reassure herself that this is all real. 

Or maybe she just wants to drink more rum, to take the edge off of whatever this is, of whatever is happening between them.

He intercepts her hand, his touch hesitant and gentle. She can feel the calluses on his fingers, on his palm. These do not feel like the hands of a spoiled Prince, or even a lazy captain. No, these are the hands of a man that knows hard labor. Who is out there rigging the sails, securing the back stays and working as one with his crew.

She feels her breath get caught in her throat as he turns her hand over, his thumb lightly brushing along the three identical wounds that run along the length of her palm.

Rey inhales sharply at the sensation, but he offers up nothing but a quizzical furrow of his brow.

“All magic demands a price.” She answers, barely speaking above a hushed murmur. “It’s why so many mages carry around insects. They’ll exchange their lives for their power.”

“You can’t heal yourself?” He's so close to her now. She could shift, could lift up on the balls of her feet, could close the space between them so easily.

She shakes her head. “Not without paying another price.”

“C’mere,” The word is so soft, so gentle. He continues to hold her hand, and this time Kylo is leading her over to where two chairs sit, beside a long dining table. He deposits her into one of the chairs, before he moves across the quarters to rummage through a couple cabinets.

It is only a matter of seconds, a minute or two at the most before he is sitting beside her, strips of cloth in hand.

“Let me see.”

Obediently she holds out her hand, and he once more cradles it, his palm supporting hers. 

He begins to silently work, gently pouring some of the rum into the open wounds. Rey grits her teeth, tries to hold still like an obedient child.

Instead of focusing on the way the alcohol burns, she tries to think about the way his hand feels around hers. Her eyes flicker to his face, to the way his lips are pursed in concentration, and how his eyes are fixed at the work in hand.

He’s handsome, something she had always known but had never acknowledged. It would complicate this.. this  _ thing  _ too much. It would compromise the mission.

Except now, everything has changed. She’s gone rogue, opted to follow her gut instead of the commands her superiors had assigned.

Both their backs are hunched, their bodies drifting forward towards one another. He picks up one of the strips of linen, and begins to tie them around her palm, securing the bandage with a tight knot.

She winces at the pressure.

“Sorry.” He murmurs, his voice low and deep. “Rough hands.”

“No,” Her tongue darts out, wetting her dry, chapped lips. “Don’t stop.”

“Rey…” His body surges forward, his hand moving to cup her neck and suddenly Rey feels as if her entire body is engulfed by flames.

His hand begins to drift down, his palm sliding along the length of her neck, over her collarbone, before it stops, hovering over her chest. 

Once more he manages to stop her breath. Their faces are just a hair length apart. She can see the specks of gold that swirl in the brown of his eyes. She can count each mole, each freckle, despite the layer of soot and grime that cakes his skin.

Her eyes drop to his lips, and once more she is filled with the desire to taste him.

There is a sharp knock on the door. 

“Captain.”

Instead of jumping back like she expects him to, he leans his forehead against hers, his eyes slipping shut as his lips press into a thin, firm line. He looks… annoyed, aggravated.

Rey feels as if her heart is beating so fast it is going to burst from her chest.

The door swings open, and the crew member doesn’t look nervous, nor afraid that he’s just interrupted a private moment. Instead he merely looks between the two with a curious gaze, a coy smirk threatening to spill from his lips.

He’s handsome, in a traditional, roguish way with tan skin and dark, curling hair. He stands at attention like a man of the militia, though there’s an arrogant swagger that he seemingly can’t shake from his posture.

“What?!” Kylo snaps as he rises, his hand slowly dropping from Rey’s body to curl into a fist at his side.

“We need to know what course to set.” 

At this Kylo’s eyes dart to Rey and back to his first mate. 

“The outer rim.” Rey answers as she rises to her feet as well. “We need to get out of sight. We need to buy some time.”

The man, Dameron, now looks uncertain as he glances between his captain and Rey, as if to ask why a woman in her shift is calling the shots.

“You heard her.” Kylo snaps, waving an impatient hand, and Dameron quickly turns to go. “By the way,” Kylo clears his throat, his eyes narrowing. “You will inform the crew that they are to heed every order from my wife.”

Rey feels a shiver down her spine.  _ Wife _ . She is his wife.

Dameron nods, and quickly moves from the room, the door shutting behind him. 

The air is tense and charged. Rey opens her mouth, moves to once more close the space between them, but Kylo is already on the move.

“I’ll be right back.” He mutters, not meeting her eye as he darts towards the exit, the door shutting firmly behind him.

For the first time since before her wedding, Rey is alone.

The reality of the past two days comes crashing down on her. Suddenly it feels as if the weight of the world is bearing down on her shoulders, and she doesn’t know what to do, or who to trust.

She wanders around Kylo’s quarters, taking in the papers on his desk, the books and maps he keeps on his shelves. Everything is organized; neat and stored in crisp lines. He’s not the kind of man who keeps things around for frivalty’s sake. 

Everything has its purpose.

Now Rey is left wondering what purpose she serves.

\- - - - - - - 


	4. but in all chaos, there is calculation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He leans his elbows against the edge of the tub, his pointer finger lazily swirling at the surface of the water, causing rings and shallow waves to appear.
> 
> “You’re avoiding me.” 
> 
> He glances over his shoulder, and sure enough there stands Rey, her features neutral despite the accusation of her words.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> another chapter for my darling kaybohls. you're a gift to this fandom, your writing is a gift to this world, and your friendship is a gift that i treasure the most. thank you for all that you do for not just me, but all my fellow pink ladies. you're the supremest of supreme leaders. ♥️
> 
> we're earning some more of that E rating this chapter. i might have been inspired by a certain bathing scene from 'the witcher'.

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/182242012@N03/49550694842/in/dateposted-public/)

_ but in all chaos, there is calculation _

_ dropping glasses just to hear them break _

\- - - - - - - 

They sailed for days without any set destination in mind. All Rey kept saying was that they needed to put space between themselves and the mainland. So, space it was. The crew had sailed under more vague terms before.

Still, they were beginning to grow restless.

“They just need a destination.” Poe explains for the upteenth time, his hand on his brow. “They just need to know that there is a light at the end of the tunnel.”

“There is.” Kylo snaps back, slamming his palms down onto his desk. “And once I figure that out, then I promise, you will be the first to know.”

The food stock was beginning to run out, the rain barrels were starting to dry. Patience was wearing thin - and Kylo knew they had to dock somewhere, had to restock and resupply - otherwise he would have a mutiny on his hands.

Sighing, he looks down at the maps sprawled across his desk. He begins to shuffle the papers, peeling back layer after layer until he finds what he’s searching for.

“There.” He points to a location before he picks up the yellowed parchment and holds it out to Poe. “That’s where we’re going. Tell the crew it will only be three more days.”

His first mate looks down at the map. His brow furrows, but one look from Kylo silences his tongue. He nods and turns to leave.

“Where are we going?” Rey emerges from the shadows, a habit she seemingly has, though Kylo is beginning to get used to it. He has just adjusted to the fact that she is always lurking, always hidden nearby. 

It feels more like a comfort these days than a hindrance.

“Zeffo.” He crosses the room, stands in front of the windows and stares out at the open sea. The sun has begun to set, painting the water’s surface with hues of pinks, oranges and purples.

She walks across the room, and for a moment he only hears the soft padding of her feet against the wooden floorboards. Everything goes silent, and Kylo can feel her presence, her body standing just a few inches from his own.

“Zeffo.” She finally echoes, the name sounding foreign on her tongue.

“It’s part of the outer rim. Has a port, but not one that is overly populated. Mostly by other pirates and people that do not wish to be noticed or found.”

People like him. No, not just him anymore. People like  _ them _ .

Her arm brushes against his as she stands shoulder to shoulder, right by his side. He pretends to ignore the way his flesh feels aflame, the way his mouth grows dry and how he suddenly feels acutely aware of every inch of his body that is now touching hers.

“We need to figure out something more,” Kylo pauses, palming the back of his neck. “Long term.”

They needed a game plan. He had an idea or two, but both involved unsavory characters, people that he knew Rey would not like. She had not mentioned a single word about her mother, or her fellow mages, and he has not pressed for answers. He doesn’t know why, but he trusts her, knows that she will speak when she is ready.

In the meantime they have Zeffo and… and they’ll have to figure out a point B. At least one more step in their plan. His crew trusted him. They would sail to the ends of the earth, but there would be less tension, less risk of rebellion if they appeared to have an agenda in place.

In the end, it is agreed to spend a few days in Zeffo. That way the crew can stretch their legs, can restock the hold.

That way Kylo and Rey can figure out a strategy.

There’s a tavern in the city square, so Kylo sends ahead a deckhand to rent a room on his behalf, with a pseudonym and a handful of gold. He doesn’t try to think about why he doesn’t want to stay on the ship, other than the fact that the sound of a bed that does not rock and a hot bath seems too good of an opportunity to turn his back on.

He doesn’t say a word when Rey joins him, a pack slung over her shoulder. She too, remains silent as they depart the  _ Silencer  _ enroute to town. At first his legs feel shaky on dry land, but he adjusts quickly.

Rey stumbles once, tripping over the planks of the dock. Out of instinct Kylo reaches out a hand, his fingers digging into the curve of her waist to try and provide stability.

“Jelly legs.” She mutters clearly agitated, but she offers him a brief smile. Kylo nods in return, but even he can’t deny the ache he feels as his hand leaves her body, his arm dropping back down to his side.

Their room is about the same size as the captain’s quarters on the Silencer, but the bed is larger, and the linens smell fresh. All Kylo wants to do is throw his body down onto the mattress and sleep for the three days the room is paid for. But as tired as his muscles ache, the layer of grit and grime coating his skin needs to be taken care of first.

Zeffo, a land made of mostly water mixed in with stretches of vibrant green grass and jagged, rocky cliffs, was also known for its hot springs. The tavern had clearly tried to capitalize on that, suiting most of the lodgings with adjacent bathing rooms.

Once you had been at sea for weeks on end, the extra expense of having a hot bath appeared to be more of a necessity than a perk. Stripping off his clothes, he left them in a pile on the cold stone floor before he lowered himself into the bathing pool, hissing as the hot water began to scald his skin. He welcomes the burn though, a reminder that he is not so invincible, that he is just as human as everyone else in this world, despite the fear that comes from his name and the royalty that flows through his blood.

He leans his elbows against the edge of the tub, his pointer finger lazily swirling at the surface of the water, causing rings and shallow waves to appear.

“You’re avoiding me.” 

He glances over his shoulder, and sure enough there stands Rey, her features neutral despite the accusation of her words. 

He shifts slightly, the water lapping at his bare skin. “If I was avoiding you, believe me, we would not be here together right now.” But she had struck a nerve. Perhaps outright avoiding wasn’t the right term, opposed to just trying to maintain some space.

Space was good. Space let him clear his head, let him think rationally without his emotions dictating his actions.

She complicated things. Kylo wasn’t sure how or why, but the fact was when Rey was close he became utterly intoxicated and consumed by her every movement, every word, every breath.

Now, all he could focus on was the sound of her feet on the stone, as she slowly moves across the room, like a tiger pacing in its cage. The similarities did not end there. Both were beautiful creatures, dangerous, wild. 

A tiger’s face gave nothing away, and neither did Rey’s. It both infuriated and infatuated him, like she was a puzzle to solve, a lock to pick.

An eyebrow rose as he watches her nimble fingers undoing tie after tie that held together the front of the loose, oversized shirt that she wore. His eyes trail down each string, watching as it was tugged undone, giving him nothing more than mere flashes of the tan, freckled skin that was hidden underneath.

Once the ties were undone, she moves to the trousers, pushing them down over her hips until the fabric pools at her feet. The shirt hangs on her now more like a short shift, and greedily his eyes lap over her newly exposed ankles, raking up along her calves and knees, wanting nothing more than to see her thighs.

She must notice how he stares, because a coy smirk plays across her lips. The shirt is falling from her shoulders, and Kylo readily thinks about how he wants to kiss every freckle, wants to lap at every inch of her skin as if he had been trapped in the desert and she is the first sign of water. 

“Turn around.” Rey orders, slowly twirling her pointer finger, motioning for him to do as she said. 

“It's nothing I haven’t seen before.” Kylo retorts, but he follows the command, shifting in the water, one leg bent slightly, his arm resting on top of his knee. 

The memories of her naked body are enough to keep him up at night, tossing and turning in his narrow bunk, all while trying to keep his body from touching hers.

Every night he closes his eyes, sees the image of her laid out before him, bare and glowing with the flicker of firelight. He remembers the way her nipples had pebbled, how he had wondered what the rest of her looked like, how badly he wanted to strip away that moldy blanket, to feast on the rest of her naked form with his eyes, his fingers, his lips, his tongue.

The sound of the water slopping against the sides of the pool is enough to draw him from his thoughts. He hears her bare legs walking through the water, the movements causing shallow waves to lap at his skin as she sits. 

His breath begins to quicken, and he does everything in his power to slow his heartbeat, to try and control his pulse.

Her bare back touches his and Kylo cannot help but think that surely this will be his demise, certainly this will be his end.

\- - - - - - - 

Rey is playing with fire. But that she is in too deep, she can do nothing but welcome the flames.

Right away, she had known where he was going after he left their room at the tavern. The smart thing would have been to stay in the room, to take advantage of her time alone. She should have tried to get a message to Maz, or the Brotherhood. She should have tried to think of where to go next, of a game plan. 

She should have stopped him, should have cornered him, threatened him, done whatever it took to get the plan back on track.

But instead she followed him, like an animal stalking its prey.

Then, when watching her food was not curing her appetite, she decided to play with it. She didn’t give herself a chance to second guess her actions, as Rey stepped from the shadows and began to undress.

When she stepped into the bathing pool, the water suddenly didn’t seem all that hot. Not in comparison to the look on his face. His gaze was hot, practically burning a trail in her skin everywhere he looked.

Her bare back brushes against his. Rey tries to ignore the growing sensation in the pit of her stomach, how the spot between her legs is begging to be touched. She reaches for a sponge, begins to scrub the dirt from her skin.

It gave her something to do, something to focus on rather than the feeling of his breathing, living body touching hers.

“When was the last time you did magic?” She forces herself to ask the question, trying to keep her tone neutral and calm as she continues to wash herself. 

“I was a kid.” She feels him shift behind her, and she dips her head, her chin brushing against her shoulder. “I didn’t know what it meant, didn’t know what was so bad. One moment I was playing out in the courtyard, and the next I had summoned some winds, they kept lifting me higher and higher.”

“Then suddenly everyone swarmed around me. There was so much shouting and yelling.” He carries on, shifting in the pool. “I thought I was in trouble. Here, the guards thought I had been bewitched. That a mage was trying to kill me.”

Her body goes still. Already she knows where this story is going, how it is going to end.

“They found a young girl.” Rey glances over her shoulder and sees the slope of his back, hunched over, his arms resting on both his knees, his fingers still swirling, creating little rivets at the water’s surface. “She proved to have the gift, though of course it was not her who had summoned the magic. Even now, I can sometimes hear her screams as they cut off her hands. Now I realize that my mother was trying to be lenient. That she could have easily sent the girl to the gallows. Though perhaps death would have been a more forgiving punishment.”

Work would be hard to come by. The girl would be an outcast, feared by her peers, no longer capable of magic and thus useless to the mages. Perhaps he was right. Maybe death would have been a better end.

“It was not until I was older,” He sits up straight, the entirety of his back pressed up against hers. “That I realized that my mother knew what was going on. It was my uncle’s idea, the Queen’s brother, to use the young girl as a scapegoat.”

She turns slowly in the water, dropping the sponge in favor of placing a hand on his shoulder. She pretends not to notice the way he shudders at her touch, the way his back goes stiff like a rod.

“That was not your fault,” Rey whispers, surprising even herself at the ferocity behind her words. “You were a child.”

He turns his head to the side, and Rey is momentarily taken by the view of his profile, backlit by the flickering candlelight. “I still had a voice. I could have spoken up.”

“Your  _ parents  _ had a voice too, one much louder and stronger than yours. There were other options, other choices.”

Her grip tightens on his shoulder and she begins to pull, begins to try and get him to turn. After a moment he submits as he comes to face her, though his eyes do not meet hers.

“You were a  _ child _ .” She presses, her fingers moving to cup his chin, to tilt his face upwards towards hers. Slowly she drops to one knee and then the other until they are both facing one another, kneeling in the water. Her palm slides, feeling the scruff of his facial hair and in contrast, the smoothness of his skin.

He’s watching her now with hooded eyes, studying every one of her movements as she dips her head forward and brushes her lips against the apple of his cheek. “You are not at fault.” Then the strong line of his jaw. “You did nothing wrong.” And finally the corner of his mouth. “That guilt is not yours to hold.”

They both wait with baited breath, though what they are waiting for, Rey does not know. Maybe for someone to knock on the door, to interrupt the inevitable like has happened so many times before. Perhaps they are waiting for the enemy to swoop in, for those soldiers in black, their leader in shimmering chrome to finally catch up, for their time to run out.

Or maybe it is the gods they wait for, to change course, to prove to them that this is not where destiny was supposed to lead. That this is not the path they were to embark upon.

But their hesitation is met with nothing more than silence. Rey realizes that no one is coming, not the villain of this story nor one of their allies. The gods are preoccupied elsewhere. 

For now, they have the rarest gift of all; they have time.

\- - - - - - - 

Her hair feels soft as silk as he runs his hand through it, watching it cascade down through his fingers. He coils it, looping the locks around and around like one would with a horse’s reins. But Kylo does not have any desire to control her, or dictate where she should go. No, he is merely holding on for dear life, hoping that she does not run away, does not decide that enough is enough and that she has had her fill.

Because now that he has tasted her, he does not think he will ever have enough.

He tries to stay perfectly still, tries to keep his breathing calm and shallow, as if too strong of a breath might break the spell, might cause reality to come crashing down upon them and end this beautiful dream.

For he must be sleeping. He must be anywhere but reality. He would willingly sleep for centuries to remain in this moment for even just a second more.

Her lips skirt over his flesh as she works her way down his neck, over his collarbone and towards his chest. She nips at his flesh before lapping at the skin, as if the feeling of her soft tongue is a suitable apology for the bruises and bite marks she leaves in her wake.

For the record, it is.

She moves as far as she can, makes it down to the bottom of his stomach, her mouth tracing the trail of wiry dark hair that contrasts with his pale flesh. She only stops once her chin dips into the water, pausing momentarily before moving back up along the opposite side of his body.

Despite the heat from the hot water, Kylo feels chilled to the bone. 

As her face levels with his, she smirks, clearly proud of the spell that has been cast upon him. Kylo blinks, gives a small shake of his head, and then mirrors her grin with one of his own.

“My turn.” He growls, and then he’s tugging on her hair that has served as an anchor while she had her fun. Ducking his head, his mouth meets her neck, and it takes every ounce of self control that he possesses to not devour her whole.

Instead he takes his time, savoring the salty taste of her skin. He sucks on her pulse point, not caring if marks are left behind. They have given into one another somewhere along the way. Now, he is hers and she is his.

The sound of her breath hitching does nothing but egg him on. He mouths along the curve of her shoulder, skims his nose along her clavicle and in between her breasts. His hand untangles from her hair, and now he grips either side of her hips, his fingertips digging into the muscles, the bones, the skin. He tries to hold her in place, tries to keep her still.

“Kylo.” She murmurs his name, but it sounds more like a plea, a chant, a prayer.

Kylo is happy to answer every single one. 

His mouth closes around on one of her nipples, his tongue swirling around the center of the rose colored bud. He sucks, laps, runs his teeth over the area, and enjoys every noise that slips from her lips. Her hands have found his head, and the sensation of her fingernails raking against his scalp, of the sharp tugs when he bites too hard, the way her hands occasionally drop to the top of his shoulders, her fingertips brushing against his skin.

“More.” She orders, and Kylo raises his head, releasing her breast from his mouth slowly, until at the last moment the flesh falls from his lips with a drawn out ‘pop’.

“As you command,  _ your highness _ .”

He wraps his arms around her waist, hands cupping her bare ass as she wraps her legs around his torso, his hard cock getting caught between their stomachs. The amount of pressure and friction her body provides against his causes a hiss to slip from his gritted teeth. 

It’s like the dam breaks, like the water comes rushing out, too out of control, too powerful to stop.

A force to be reckoned with.

Their bodies shift, and he’s poised at her entrance. Their mouths attack one another, tongues battling for dominance and Kylo is lost in how she tastes, like the ocean, the earth, the sky, the stars - and a hint of blood. She tastes like the entire universe, and he knows from that moment forth it is not a flavor he will ever tire of.

He finds himself positioned at her entrance and he does not hesitate before thrusting up into her body, a loud groan vibrating in his throat at the sensation of her tight, slick cunt. She gasps, and he pauses for just a moment before he thrusts again and again, inching further and further with every movement of his hips.

Kylo surges forward, and Rey’s back knocks against the wall of the pool, but neither pay the rough maneuver any mind. His body is once more pressed flush to hers, his leaking cock withdrawing and slamming back into her cunt in rapid succession. Their lips part as they began to pant, breathless and moaning in time with the tandem movement of their bodies. Her nails dig into his shoulders, his back, constantly switching positions as if they cannot find enough purchase, as they both chase after the euphoria, after the sensation that is building at their very cores.

She reaches that high first, coming with a cry as her inner walls tighten around him, which in turn sends Kylo tumbling over the edge. His neck bends forward, his hands reaching out to grip the edge of the bath’s walls as he feels his seed emptying into her. His heart stutters, his breath pauses, and for a moment all he can see is stars, yet all he feels is her.

Her hands come to rest at the base of his neck, her fingernails tracing small circles in the dark hairs that taper off into pale skin. His head lulls against hers until his cheek his resting against the base of her throat. He murmurs nonsense, promises of how beautiful she is, how strong, and he continues to babble her praises like he’s worshiping one of the gods upon their altar.

She hums in contentment, and Kylo can feel the vibrations radiating from her throat. Neither make any move to part, and instead Kylo brushes his mouth against her skin, tasting the warm bathwater mingled with her salty sweat.

“Does this-” Rey begins, lifting her hands to push damp locks of hair from his forehead. It’s a loving gesture, the kind performed by mothers to their children or between lovers. Then again, Kylo supposes they  _ are  _ married, and what is there more intimate than a man and his wife?

“Does this,” She starts again, shifting her hips slightly which sends a jolt through Kylo, despite the fact he is only now half hard. “Mean we are on our honeymoon?”

The irony of her voice causes a bark of laughter to slip from his lips. What a foreign concept laughter has become to him. How long had it been that he had truly laughed, not in mocking or to be cruel.

He really is captivated underneath her spell. How quickly he has fallen to a woman that he had previously regarded as the enemy.

Kylo withdraws from her, and they both groan at the sudden feeling of emptiness. For compensation, he presses his mouth to hers, swiping his tongue along her slightly parted lips.

“If this is to be our honeymoon,” He begins, his arms looping around her, his fingers drumming up and down along the length of her spine. “Then perhaps we should move to the bed.”

His suggestion is met with another bruising kiss, which he can only interpret as a yes. Once more her legs hook around his waist, while his own arms support her body. Kylo begins to walk from the pool, rising up out of the water, the air feeling cold on his flushed flesh.

Carrying her into the adjacent bedroom, Kylo drops her onto the bed, his eyes revelling in the sight of her breasts bouncing on the mattress. Suddenly he doesn’t feel as sated, and he can feel himself growing hard at the idea of performing a more thorough exploration of her body.

She reaches for him, and soon Kylo is tumbling into the bed with his wife.

Wife.

That word still sounded strange on his tongue, but it was growing less foreign with time. In fact, he found himself growing accustomed to it with every passing moment. Perhaps this was not love. Perhaps this was nothing more than lust; than two bodies seeking an outlet as the outside world spirals out of control. 

But Kylo was content with that. If this was all he had, well - he was happy it was with her. 

He lowers his mouth to hers once more, and all he can think is that no other kiss has ever tasted this sweet.

\- - - - - - -

Sunlight shines through the window, landing in her eyes and causing an annoyed groan to slip from her lips. Rey throws an arm over her eyes and moves to roll over, to bury her head beneath the blankets.

Instead she meets a solid wall of muscle and warmth.

For a moment she goes still, until the memories come rushing back. Kylo. The bed. The floor. The wall. The door. 

At least that explains why her entire body aches, but nowhere more than between her legs.

She groans again, but this time for an entirely different reason. Morning. This is their last day in Zeffo. The  _ Silencer _ is to set sail, and though Kylo does not know it yet, Rey will not be on board.

Slowly she extracts her limbs from his, doing the best to ignore the way her body hurts, but this time for a different reason.

This was not part of the plan. She had expected to fuck him, had already resigned her mind to that fact the moment she had walked down that aisle.

It would be expected of any husband to bed his wife on their wedding night.

But back in the tower, when she had feigned confidence in order to get inside his mind, she had never felt such relief when he had told her no, when he had not been expecting any such thing.

Yet now… now things had grown complicated.

She pushes down the guilt, the pang of hurt she feels, but refuses to acknowledge it as heart break.

_ This is a game _ , Rey tells herself as she slips into the oversized trousers she had been given after first boarding the  _ Silencer _ .

After all, isn’t that what court is? One giant game, and they are all nothing but the pieces, the parts for others with more power, more money, more glory to move around.

Rey is done being a piece.

And until she can trust Kylo, until she knows he isn’t part of the scheme, then she needs to be done with him too.

She tosses on the rest of her clothes with efficiency and precision. At the last moment, she steals his hat.  _ It’s for practicality _ , Rey tells herself as she tucks her brown locks up underneath. Less questions will be asked, less curious glances accumulated if she disguises herself as a man.

Rey allows herself one more look. Her eyes feast upon his sleeping form, taking in the expanse of his exposed back, scattered with the freckles and beauty marks she had just begun to memorize. But now there are scratches, angry half crescent shapes that were still red and raw, just beginning to heal. 

She had left her mark on him.  _ Good _ , she thinks as she turns, forces herself to look away. Because he had left his mark on her, one that didn’t include the bruises on her neck nor the bite marks on her inner thighs.

This was something different, something deeper. Something that even time would probably do little to heal.

Tipping the brim down to help obscure the sight of her face, Rey turns to leave. She doesn’t take anything, doesn't pack more than the clothes on her back.

The door pulls shut behind her.

A moment later, he awakens.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> all comments/kudos are appreciated! ♥️
> 
> feel free to follow me on [twitter](https://www.twitter.com/shuhannon)


	5. now we're in the ring and we're coming for blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The world is at war. Her majesty, Queen Leia of Alderaan is dead, and now lays in the bottom of a tomb, flesh rotting and body decomposing, buried beside her husband and her brother.
> 
> Ben Solo, the last Prince of Alderaan has now become the last king, attempting to hold his kingdom together, trying to keep the monsters snapping their teeth at the borders at bay.
> 
> ***
> 
> five years later and ben and rey finds themselves on opposite sides of a kingdom at war.

[](https://www.flickr.com/photos/182242012@N03/49604727317/in/dateposted-public/)  


__they lose their minds for us, and how it plays out_ _

__now we're in the ring and we're coming for blood__

\- - - - - - -

_ Five years later _

The world is at war. Her majesty, Queen Leia of Alderaan is dead, and now lays in the bottom of a tomb, flesh rotting and body decomposing, buried beside her husband and her brother.

Ben Solo, the last Prince of Alderaan has now become the last king, attempting to hold his kingdom together, trying to keep the monsters snapping their teeth at the borders at bay.

The seas are no better. Ships are constantly caught in battle, as pirates are bribed to work. 

Captain Kylo Ren is no more. Many suspect he lies at the bottom of the Cordaxian Sea, with his crew and his ship.

But she knows the truth. She knows that the pirate previously shrouded in blood and mystery now sits upon the throne.

Her husband.

Their wedding has been long forgotten by their people. Rumor swirls that the young beauty’s life was lost on her wedding day, when the castle was attacked and the monarchs were forced to flee.

He knows the truth. He knows that she’s out there, alive - but lost. 

For had she died, he would have felt it, a change in the air, a shifting in the earth.

When the other half of one’s soul dies, the results are catastrophic.

That is something you feel, in your heart, your flesh, in the very marrow of your bones.

For how is one to live with only half of their soul?

\- - - - - - -

“The time has come.”

She ducks her head, lifting her fingers to remove the dark hood that obscures her face.

Her master does not like it when she hides. 

Children in masks, he had snarled once. Just being inside of her mind, reading her thoughts was not enough. No, he had to see them etched in her features, had to see how they played across her face.

He was a part of her, embedded into her very core.

She did not act without hearing his hand guiding her body, did not speak without hearing the whisper of his voice in her ear.

He was everywhere. She would not be surprised if she smelled of him now, if her skin would taste like his.

Slowly, piece by piece, he has integrated himself into her, like a cancer who could do nothing but consume everything in its path.

And she has allowed it. For that is the price she needs to pay for peace, to restore order to the world once more.

To take her rightful place on the throne.

For it should be a mage that rules. It should be someone of magical blood and birthright, someone who can bring the First Order of Mages to full power as they had once been, long ago when humans had been nothing more than lowly serfs, destined for manual labor and to serve those who were gifted. As they should. As is their rightful place as decreed by King Plagueis the Wise.

And she, she is the chosen one, the one destined to bring power to the Order, to bring balance once more.

For so long she had thought destiny was pushing her towards him, that with him, by his side, in his bed was where she belonged.

But now she saw that for what it had been, a detour, a distraction; a young lonely girl seeking comfort, seeking a chance to belong, to try and discover who she was.

_ Now _ she knew. No longer was she High Mage Kanata. No, she had uncovered the truth about her past, about her lineage, of where she came from.

She was Rey Palpatine, the true and chosen Queen.

\- - - - - - -

The world was in chaos, it was breaking, crumbling all around him - and yet somehow it was Ben’s job to hold everything together. He felt as if he was trying to hold water in his hands. No matter how hard he tried, how tight he held his fingers together, the liquid still found a way of trickling out before it just became too hard and he could do nothing but to rid his hands of it, to let it free.

The Resistance was holding onto threads. Their numbers were dwindling, their resources almost depleted. They had nothing left, nothing more to give.

_ Hope _ , he hears his mother’s voice whispering in his ears.  _ You have hope. _

So hope is what Ben kept feeding his soldiers, hoping it was enough to make it through one more battle, to live one more day.

And for so long, despite it not being much, hope was enough. It got Ben through when he had to once and for all bury Kylo Ren, when he had to allow that part of his life to drown - much like the  _ Silencer  _ at the bottom of the sea.

No longer could he live this double life. No longer could he escape to the ocean, to parade around like a pirate captain when the people of Alderaan were barely scraping by.

Kylo Ren had to die in order for Ben Solo - the last King of Alderaan - to rise.

Now, he feels completely lost at what to do. “Some king,” Ben can’t help but to mutter under his breath as he stares down at the bits of parchment spread across his desk. He has been studying the battle plans, staring at maps, trying to see a way they can pull through this, that they can make it safely to the other side.

He has nothing. He is out of ideas, out of shots.

Out of hope.

The door to his chambers opens and his head snaps up, his lip curling as a reprimand at such a brutish interruption sits on the tip of his tongue.

Standing in the doorway is Dameron, one of the few members of his crew to leave behind a life of debauchery at sea to join him, to help restore him to throne, to restore order to the world. His previous first mate doesn’t give him a chance to speak. 

“She’s been spotted.” 

He already knows who ‘she’ is. “Where?” Ben fires back, already rising to his feet.

“Kef Bir.”

A string of profanity more fit for a pirate captain than a king slips from his lips. The small mass of land is known for its treacherous waters, it’s stormy seas. But what would bring her to Kef Bir? There wasn’t anything there, let alone anything worth value.

Except… except…

“Ready my ship.” Ben commands, already pushing past Dameron and into the hall. “I need a skeleton crew, just the bare necessities.”

Dameron falls into step beside him. “Do you know why she’s there? What she’s after?”

He hesitates, as he always does with her. Then again, perhaps that was the problem. No longer could he separate his emotions from his mind. Politics, legacies, even the wellbeing of his subjects all went out the window when it came to her.

What he wouldn’t do to bring her back.

She was his weak spot, his Achilles heel. The one chink in his armor - and she knew it. She knew how to exploit that weakness, how to take advantage of the soft spot he had in his heart for her.

But no more. Enough was enough. The war had been waging for too long. Too many lives had been lost. If he couldn’t bring her back towards the light, well then perhaps it was time to snuff out the candle before it turned into raging wildfire, burning everything in its path.

Even if he had to burn down with her.

\- - - - - - -

There were stories passed down from parent to child, ones told at bedtime to put delightful thoughts in their sleeping babe’s head. Ones to teach them lessons, to make them behave, to trick them into eating their vegetables and listening to their elders.

Then there were the stories of warning. Of how to learn from the past, of how to not make the same mistakes.

The seas of Kef Bir was one of these tales. Rey had only been a child when she had first heard of the great battle out in the roaring black seas, one that included the largest ship ever built.

A ship that was christened  _ Death Star _ \- and at its helm stood her grandfather, Sorcerer Palpatine, one of the most powerful mages of that time. Behind him was his armada, a fleet of one hundred ships, sleek with black sails and packed to the brim with obedient soldiers.

The battle had not even begun, and it was already practically won.

But, as the story goes, there had been a young knight, with powerful magic coursing through his veins. The chosen one, some whispered as he walked by on his white stead, an enchanted firesword hanging from his belt.

It was this knight that was the final piece of the brave young Queen’s plan. For the knight was her brother, and together, they managed to defeat the fleet, managed to slay Palpatine and end his tyrannical reign.

And that was how it ended, with peace restored to the kingdom, the proper heir on the throne and balance between the humans and the mages.

What no one mentioned was how the mages were left weak, nearly extinct by the end of the war. How the stigma that circled around magic, around the mages - who were nothing more than humans themselves - were shunned, unable to work or provide for themselves or for their families.

How it made humans paranoid. One ounce of magical blood in their offspring and the child would be abandoned, would be left in the woods as a sacrifice to the gods, or perhaps bartered to local apothecaries - to those sick, twisted doctors who wanted nothing more than to dissect their bodies all in the name of a cure.

How lucky was Rey to have lived through her younger years, let alone make it to adulthood. How differently her story would have ended had she not ended up in Maz’s capable hands.

Maz. 

She feels a sting of regret, a dull ache in her bones.

She had failed her mother, the only person she had ever known. She had left her, had abandoned her. Had Rey stayed behind, had she put family above everything else, maybe the outcome would have differed. Maybe Maz would be standing beside her now, heart beating and lungs full of air.

Maybe all of this mess could have been avoided. 

_ But it was Maz that arranged your marriage,  _ a voice, slick and oozing like oil whispered in her ear.  _ Maz was the one that gave you away, that washed her hands of you without another look, another thought. _

No, Maz is in the past. She needs to let the past die, to kill it if she must.

This is her destiny now. 

The wind whips at her face as the waves crash around her. She urges the ship further, using her magic as it crests impossibly high waves, ignoring the way small drops of blood begin to trickle from her nose.

Up ahead she can see it, can make the sight of a massive shipwreck that is somehow still poking out from the ocean’s surface, suspended partially submerged and partially exposed to the air, all by the hand of magic. Not just any magic, but dark magic, the kind that came with a steep cost, that would break apart the soul of any lowly mage who would try.

She ignores the sting of the salty spray that splashes in her eyes. She ignores the waves that grow higher, as tall as castle turrets. Rey has no doubts that she will make it to her destination in one piece. She has no qualms that this ship, that her magic, will falter.

The mission is too great, too important for slip ups and failures. Destiny may trip - but it does not fall.

As she gets closer to the ship, Rey throws out her hands, shooting out streams of flames from her hands. The power behind the fire propels her upwards, giving her just enough of a boost that she lands on the deck of the tilted shipwreck with a thud that is drowned out by the roaring waves around her. 

Now the real work begins.

She makes a beeline for the staircase that leads below deck. The wood is covered in grime and sealife; barnacles and fungi that have given the once deep, rich wood tones a green tint. 

Moving swiftly, she begins to make her way through the wreckage, climbing over fallen beams, wading through pools of icy cold water, shifting past debris. She uses her magic sparingly, saving her strength for when it is needed the most.

For he is coming. She can feel it, can sense his presence as it grows near.

Her pace increases. She has to find it before he gets here. She needs to destroy it before he catches on.

Slowly she takes a breath, tries to center herself, tries to keep her mind clear, her movements controlled, calculated. She cannot allow her emotions to bleed in, cannot allow her judgement to become clouded, her movements sloppy.

He is her weakness, her achilles heel, and she refuses to roll over, to expose her soft underbelly, to allow him to gain the upper hand. This plot relies on her strength, on her ability to maintain the walls of her mind, to keep him out of her heart.

She was made of stone and steel. She was solid and sturdy. She would not allow him to bend her, would not allow herself to break.

The ship is massive, had once been the largest to sail the open seas. Level after level Rey climbs through, her only guide being the magic that lives in her veins, and the way that it begins to hum louder the closer she gets.

Soon, she finds herself in a large room, the sight of a disheveled throne before her. The floor is at an awkward tilt, and she quickly centers herself, pressing the soles of her leather boots into the groaning wood planks to prevent herself from sliding. 

This is it. This is the room.

It calls to her, the ringing in the back of her ear and the pulsating in her veins growing more and more persistent.

Her eyes begin to scan the room, taking in the fallen beams, the holes in the floor, the jagged pieces of splintered wood that had been left in the wake of destruction. 

At first glance she misses it, but then she spots a corner of the black iron box, it’s exterior looking sleek, while it’s integrity seems to have held out despite the constant exposure to moisture and the test of time.

It’s smaller than she thought, but as Rey draws closer to the coffer she realizes that it’s not the only one. There are dozens of chests, all varying in shape and size - but identical in color. Each one had its own intricate design, and for a moment Rey felt nothing but curiosity as her eyes raked over each and every one.

What treasure must lie inside, what knowledge and hints to the past, to  _ her _ past, her legacy, her bloodline.

The history of her family lies in these chests. How easy it would be to pick their locks, to break them open and see what is inside.

_ No _ , a voice hisses in her ear, angry as it rattles her mind.

She shakes her head, trying to clear the fog that has settled over her brain, trying to refocus herself on the task at hand.

Closing her eyes, Rey reaches out a hand. She centers on the hum, trying to locate its source amongst the menagerie of vaults.

“Rey.”

His voice slices through her focus like a hot sword through ice. She feels a lurch in her chest, an ache deep down that she thought had been suffocated, had been snuffed out long ago.

She doesn’t turn right away, as flashes of memory jump to the forefront of her mind. She sees him standing at the end of the aisle, mouth twitching as he shifts his weight from one foot to the other. His hair is combed, his skin scrubbed clean. He looks every bit a prince, a future king.

She sees him standing behind the wheel of a ship, salty sea air whipping at his hair and loose tunic, his skin golden tan and his brow furrowed as he calls out orders to the scurrying crew members.

She sees him sitting in a bathing pool, leg slightly bent as his knee rises from the surface of the water. She sees drops of water collecting on his skin amongst the freckles, beauty marks and scars.

His hair is damp, slicked back though a few dark tendrils fall forward, over his ears and curling along his forehead.

He stares right back at her, his eyes boring into hers, causing her skin to prickle, to burn. 

She presses her thighs together, tries to dull the ache that is beginning to blossom between her legs.

She sees him sleeping, lying beneath cream colored linens, an arm thrown above his head, his features relaxed, serene as he sleeps. He shifts and she feels herself beginning to move away, placing more and more distance between the two. It hurts, every step she takes - but it’s necessary. 

It’s what must be done.

“Rey.”

Once more his voice draws her from her thoughts. Except this time she is ready. She steels her mind, hardens her heart and then turns to face him.

\- - - - - - - 

She’s still as beautiful as the moment his eyes had first lain upon her.

But she’s different, too. Her cheek bones are sharper, her skin paler, her body more lithe. She is draped head to toe in black, and despite the the intricate braid at the base of her neck, stray locks of hair whip around, clinging to her forehead, her cheeks.

There is no softness, no warmth in her eyes. She looks at him as if he’s the enemy. 

No, no it’s worse than that. Her eyes are empty as they look at him, as if he’s a stranger, a person that she doesn’t know at all.

He takes in the defensive stance of her body, the dried blood under her left nostril, the way her lips curl into a cruel smirk.

“You don’t have to do this-” Ben begins to say, his fingers already curling around the hilt of the sword that hangs from his belt. “You don’t have to go this way.”

“Too late.” She snaps back. “I am already gone.”

He notices the movement out of the corner of his eye, but it’s already too late. Her fingers shift, and there’s an explosion to his right. Instantly Ben ducks, rolling away from the blast. But it’s no use. Blast after blast is heard, as debris flies through the air. He tries to keep one eye on her, tries to see where she’s going - but already she has a head start. He sees nothing but the flutter of black fabric as she rounds a corner. Scrambling to his feet, Ben charges after her.

She’s smaller, more nimble and capable of crawling through small spaces. Ben wastes no time, and raises his hand and uses magic to shove any obstacles aside.

Before he knows it, he’s back on the top deck of the ship. The ocean roars as the sky churns, gray and angry up ahead. A storm is brewing, and time is quickly becoming scarce. He told Poe he wouldn’t be gone for more than an hour, that if anything more passed he was to take the troops and move on. They couldn’t afford to be cornered by the First Order, and couldn't handle another loss.

She stands across the deck, her arms bent and her fingers curled. He can’t make out what she’s saying, but he can see the way her lips move in a rhythmic chant, can make out the fresh blood as it drips from her nose.

He unsheathes his sword, and the moment the blade is exposed to the air it ignites into flames. A stream of fire bursts from Rey’s hands, shooting out as an arc through the air, and quickly Ben raises the sword, allowing the bewitched weapon to take the brunt of the assault.

Gritting his teeth, Ben pushes back against her attack. He takes one struggling step forward followed by another, slowly advancing. But soon, it becomes clear that they are at a stalemate as she drops her arms and he lowers his sword. There’s a pause, a brief break, but then she’s shooting fireballs from her fingertips.

Ben ignores the way his arms ache as he lifts his sword, blocking and dodging, but not gaining any ground between them. 

A wave crests, high above the wreckage. Ben can’t do much but turn his head and watch in horror as the wall of water begins to crash down onto the very deck where they both stand.

He closes his eyes, raises a hand and tries to focus. He tries to recall all the teachings he’s read, every incantation he’s studied. It pays off. Instead of being knocked overboard by a heavy assault of sea water, Ben instead feels nothing more than a heavy drizzle. His hair is saturated, his clothes soaked through. His head snaps up, and through the waves that keep pummeling the ship, out she walks. Her jaw is set, her hair clinging to her forehead, her cheeks, and her eyes? Oh, her eyes burn like the very fire she can summon into her hands.

A smirk twitches at his lips.

This is the woman he has come to know, the mage that he married.

He doesn’t see the funnel of air that she shoots at him, and he’s knocked back. His body skids across the slick deck, and he reaches out, grasping for anything that’s solid and sturdy. His hand makes contact with one of the few remaining canons that is still in its rightful place despite the rest of the destruction. Ignoring the pain that shoots up his arm, his fingers curl around the heavy iron of the canon rabera, holding on tight. His body jolts to a stop, and as much as Ben wants to pause, wants to catch his breath and calm his beating heart, he knows that time is not a luxury that he has.

Instead he stands, his chest rising and falling rapidly. She’s walking towards him, that smirk still playing across her mouth as she wipes the blood from her nostrils with the back of her hand, smearing it until her upper lip is stained reddish brown.

A staff is her hands. She begins to twirl it, the long stick gaining momentum as she continues on her path towards him.

Ben reaches for his sword, and once again the blade is engulfed in flame.

They come together, and just like in every other aspect of their lives, when they meet there are sparks. He’s stronger. He’s taller, bigger than her all around. But the way she moves? There’s nothing like it. Soon they’re caught up in a dance; he parries and she dodges. She does a side swipe and he blocks. Her staff must be bewitched, because no matter how many times it crosses with his fire sword, it does not catch on fire. Not even a scorch mark is left behind.

Moving across the deck, not much space is maintained between them. Ben takes a step back, and she is right there, stepping forward. She spins on her heel, landing in a defensive stance and Ben is just a beat behind.

Soon they are once more at a stand still, each movement losing power and vigor. He’s panting, feeling breathless, his limbs spent, and she does not seem to be faring much better.

They are equally matched, at an impasse. Once again, two sides of the coin meet, and destiny is telling them that they are the same, that not one ranks higher than the other.

“Why did you leave?” Ben roars, his throat hoarse, but he presses on, determined to be heard over the crackling thunder overhead and the sound of the curling waves. “I thought we were in this together.”

“No,” She shakes her head, her teeth bared as she spins on her heel, her staff colliding with his upper arm. “There is no together. There is only yourself.” He grunts, his grasp loosening on his sword. She sees the weakness, the opening, and slams the blunt end of her staff against his knuckles.

His sword clatters to the ground.

The assault doesn’t stop, and the next thing he knows she’s thrusting her weapon into his stomach, causing him to double over. Another hit to his kneecaps and he’s dropping to his knees, his head tilted up towards her as rain drops begin to fall from the sky.

She stands over him, staff poised beneath his chin.

“Don’t do this.” He pleads, his bottom lip trembling. He feels droplets of water dripping down his forehead, over his cheeks, the bridge of his nose. “Don’t go this way.”

He sees her hesitate. It’s only for a breath, a beat, but it's there. Her face begins to soften, her arms begin to slacken. It's all minuscule movements, subtle, the kind that you blink and would miss. 

But he saw it. He saw past the mask that she wore. He began to break down the barriers that had been built over the last five years. It wasn’t much, nothing more than a chink in her armor, a small fracture in her facade. But it was still something, and she was still in there.

Then it was gone. The moment passes and her guard goes back up. She lifts her staff, raising it to strike, and he closes his eyes, preparing for the final blow.

There’s a loud crack that echoes in his ears.

And then everything goes black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> all comments/kudos are appreciated! ♥️
> 
> feel free to follow me on [twitter](https://www.twitter.com/shuhannon)


	6. we let our battles choose us

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He looks younger like this, Rey can’t help but to think as she studies his unconscious face, taking in the way his plush lips are slightly parted, the way his hair keeps falling forward into his face.
> 
> This was a bad idea. Dangerous. If Snoke found out…

_ chance is the only game i play with, baby _

_ we let our battles choose us _

\- - - - - - -

He looks younger like this, Rey can’t help but to think as she studies his unconscious face, taking in the way his plush lips are slightly parted, the way his hair keeps falling forward into his face.

This was a bad idea. Dangerous. If Snoke found out…

No, she pushes those thoughts from her mind as she tries and tries to maintain the barriers so that her master can’t creep in.

For if they’re discovered, it can only end in one way. Either his death or hers. There does not need to be more than one ruler. Besides, one puppet is easier to control than two.

She dips the cloth in a small bowl of water before pressing it to his temple, as she begins to wipe away at the dried blood. Magic won’t help her now. It can’t. She has been out of touch with it for so long, she doesn’t know how to perform it without giving up a small piece of her soul.

And so much has been given up already. So much has been sacrificed. Her strength is almost depleted, given that she used the last of it to teleport them away, Ben’s large frame draped over hers.

Besides, Rey knows that Snoke can track her, can hunt them down. She needs to save her strength. She needs to figure out what to do next, a plan…

The abandoned villa was a stroke of sheer, dumb luck. While she had meant to teleport far away, Rey hadn’t meant to come to Naboo.

The picturesque town had once been a popular summer destination, where the wealthy came to get away, or where those tired of the bustle of Aldera came to settle down, to start a family.

Maz had brought her here a few times as a child. She could already feel the warm sun shining down on her skin, could hear her mother’s distant laughter as they skipped stones, watching the sleek gray rocks skimming across the lake’s surface.

_ Stop. _ Rey shut her eyes, squeezing them shut as her fingers curled into fists, the tips of her nails digging into the soft flesh of her palms.  _ Don’t think of that. _

There was no time for reminiscing, no time for dreaming of happier times that had long ago been destined for the past.

After all, the Naboo of yesterday looked nothing like the Naboo that stood now.

The city had been evacuated. Everyone had run when the streets had turned into battlefield, the majority of its population being slaughtered, just another casualty of war. 

The First Order hadn’t even taken command. No, they had fought, had killed, and then kept on marching east, looking for the next place to conquer.

Now, it seemed that nothing remained.

She was relieved to see that the portal left them out in the countryside, a few hours walk from the main city center. Even more convenient, there was a house, a small place poised directly beside one of Naboo’s infamous lakes.

And, it was empty.

Getting him inside proved to be a hassle, complicated more by the fact she was too worn out to use her magic. Nonetheless, she was stubborn and she persisted, eventually getting him in through the front door.

She had dumped his broad frame to the floor, careful of his head and not much else. Then she set to work, scavenging the place for anything of use. Rey had no idea how much longer Ben would be unconscious, but she had to be prepared for when he woke.

Luck was on her side. She discovered rope in the back garden. Looping it around his wrists and ankles, she then tied the end to the strongest thing she could find, the iron frame of the nearest window. After giving a few good tugs, she felt satisfied with its strength. It would be enough.

After cleaning his wounds, Rey sat back on the balls of her feet, crouching in the shadows. Then, she began to wait.

The sun began to set, and the hut grew dark. Rey found some candles. Pulling a small piece of flint from her pocket, she struck it against the steel blade of her knife over and over again until a flame was produced. Repeating the action over and over again, Rey distributed the lit candles throughout, a soft, yellow glow settling over the room.

Once the job was done, she returned to her spot.

She continued to watch him, continued to try and spot the similarities and differences about his body, his face.

The irony of their situation is not lost on her. Once again they are hiding out in some long forgotten place, damp from head to toe, their clothes saturated and their bodies chilled to the bone. Yet again they are weak and waiting, like prey hiding in the underbrush.

Rey has never been weak. She certainly does not want to start now. 

But before they can move, she needs to speak with him, needs more information before she can devise a plan.

She kicks him, hard, with the heel of her boot. His body rouses, a groan slipping from his lips as his head lolls to the side. So she kicks him again. 

This time a louder growl erupts from his lips. He moves to raise his hands, only to discover them bound, his movements restricted.

That is when his eyes open, his gaze flashing to meet hers.

She sneers at him, tries to school her features into being cold, calculating, just like when they had met face to face on the shipwreck. But this time, she knows she has failed. She is a pale imitation of that woman. Oh how quickly he had begun to unravel her with nothing more than a quivering lip and a pair of sad, soft eyes.

“Good. You’re awake.” Her tone is clipped, and Rey wills the words to not shake. Her hands curl into tight fingers, just to try and keep her fingers still.

He tries to move, struggling to shift his body, though whether it’s from his injuries or the restrictions of the rope, Rey cannot tell. Eventually he gets himself to sit up, leaning heavily against the wall, his chin jutted up towards the sky.

She’s overcome with the urge to push back his hair, to feel his skin. To taste him. Touch him. To fuck him.

She pushes those thoughts down, as if they are nothing more than bile in the back of her throat. 

“You kept me alive.” Ben grunts, his breathing still labored. He begins to look around, trying to make out their location in the dim, candle lit room.

“You are more of use to me alive than dead.”

“Your master would say otherwise.”

Snoke. She does not want to think about him. Not now, not when she’s with… him. For she already knew what her master would want, what he would require her to do in order to prove her loyalty, to prove that she was strong.

_ Let the past die, kill it if you have to. _

“You do not know him. You do not know what his plan is.”

Now it was Ben’s turn to smirk, to sneer.

“Oh, how naive of you to think that your mind is the only one he has been whispering in.”

The blood in her veins turns cold. It takes every ounce of willpower to not falter, to not stumble back at the accusation. Snoke had said time and time again, that it was Rey he was after. The last mage. The rightful ruler. The heir to the throne.

Now she sees that she was not the last hope. Snoke had options. He had merely prayed upon the weaker of the two, had seduced the more flexible mind.

Her eyes flash to his. “I am not Snoke’s plaything.” Flames began to lick at her fingers, static crackling as lightning begins to swirl in the space between her digits. Once more she feels the hum of power coursing through her veins. 

She is powerful. She is magic. She is the chosen one.

“No.” He agrees, and once more she is taken aback. “But you are disposable in his mind. He underestimates you. He does not understand the true scale of your abilities. To him you are nothing.”

She sucks in a breath, the words hitting her flesh with more bite than she would have thought. Nothing. She was replaceable. She was nothing more than a piece to this game, a means to an end.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, Rey had known this. She knew that Snoke’s loyalties lied only to himself. But he had taken her in when she had been lost and confused, had whispered sweet words in her ear, telling her exactly what she wanted to hear. She had been so tired of being part of the games, of being a token exchanged back and forth. Yet where did she end up? Where did it get her?

Nowhere.

“You are nothing.” She works her jaw, trying to swallow down the lump that is forming in the base of her throat, trying to hold back the tears that are beginning to pool in the corners of her eyes. 

“But not to me.”

He is meant to be her competition, her enemy, for she stands on one side of his war and he stands on the other. Their paths had been chosen, their swords drawn. There was no turning back after this. Not in any scenario did this play out with them reunited upon the throne together.

Almost as if Ben could read her thoughts, his eyes began to soften. His tongue darts out to wet his dry, cracked lips. “Why not?”

“It’s too late.” Angrily she swipes at her face before Rey abruptly stands, moving about the room as if she has purpose, has tasks to accomplish. “I made my choice. You made yours.”

“I choose you.”

“Stop it.” She turns her back to him, squeezes her eyes shut. 

“I want you.”

“No.” Her head begins to shake as she turns to leave. For a moment she hesitates, parts her lips as if she’s going to speak. But whatever she was about to say shrivels up and dies on the tip of her tongue.

She offers up nothing before turning on her heel and exiting the room, the door falling shut with a soft thud behind her.

\- - - - - - -

She’s gone for hours.

Ben can’t tell exactly how much time has passed, but he can tell that the sun has long ago set, that the moon was high in the sky by the small glow that filters in through the cracks in the windows.

His throat is dry, his mouth parched. What he wouldn’t give for a glass, hell, even a drop of water. His hands and legs ache, his joints feeling stiff from being stuck in the same position for so long.

For a while Ben tries to loosen the ropes at his ankles and at his wrists, but quickly realizes his attempts are futile. She has done too thorough of a job.

So he merely slumps back against the wall in defeat. His eyes slip shut, and for a moment, Ben just tries to focus, tries to listen.

He reaches out with magic, and at first is met with nothing more than a brick wall, the silence deafening. Yet he doesn’t give up. He tries to move past that wall, to find a way around.

His hands began to shake. Perspiration gathers at his temples and along his hairline. He is about to give up when he feels her. It’s small, a distant hum. But it’s still something, it’s still there.

It feels familiar, feels warm. 

That’s how he knows it’s hers.

He strokes the connection, the bond, like a finger dragging along someone’s spine. She resists, she tries to run, to throw up any defense she has in her arsenal.

But Ben is persistent. He clings to her, desperate to hold on.

In the end the crack grows wider, opening up her mind to be bridged with his.

That’s when he allows her in.

Bits and pieces of memory flash before both their eyes. Ben as a young boy with a sinister voice whispering soft things in his ear. The first time his magic appears and the shame that follows. The same voice from his youth, growing louder as it toys and manipulates his emotions.

How he finally leaves. How he runs off to the sea.

She’s in his memories too. Walking down the aisle dressed in gold. Collapsed on the beach, wearing the same gown, though now this time it is soaking wet, with sand clinging to its hem.

He shows her his attraction, the way he had glanced towards her naked form, how badly he wanted to give in, to touch her and fuck her in the tower when they had to strip for warmth.

He shows her all the subtle looks aboard the  _ Silencer _ , how he had always been aware of her location, how he had threatened the crew when he overheard their lewd comments.

He shows her, he pushes the single thought through the bond, insistant and strong, that after all this time, he still considers her to be his wife.  
  


And he shows how when they finally came together, her hot skin tasting salty, how their bodies fit perfectly like the shards of broken glass. What a miracle it was. What a coincidence.

Except nothing about them is by serendipity, by chance. No, this is their true destiny. Not whatever poison Snoke trickles into their minds. Not the games of court that their parents played, trying to outwit not just one another, but the gods above.  _ This _ . Them, together, whether on a throne or out at sea, that is what is meant to be.

The bond is shut off abruptly but effectively, like a swift knife severing a limb. The silence feels louder, and Ben has never felt more alone, hands and feet bound, left behind to his own demise in the dark.

But the warmth still remains in his belly, the faint memory of how it felt when their minds connected, how it felt to reach out to her, to touch her, and to have her open to him. So as his head lolls to the side, as he shifts on the hard, stone floor in a bid to find comfort, that feeling is what he focuses on to bring him comfort. That feeling is all he has left.

She is his final hope.

\- - - - - - -

She returns some time later.

A sack is thrown over her shoulder, heavy with whatever supplies she could find. She wasn’t stupid to wander into the abandoned city with how dire their situation was. Despite being evacuated, Rey knew that there were still those that lurked in the shadows, with ill intentions. Snoke had eyes everywhere, and Rey wouldn’t be surprised if a pair was hiding out in Naboo, waiting for their opportunity to be rewarded by the powerful mage, for whatever information they could give.

And Rey here with Ben? That would garner great treasure.

No, the distance between them and the capital needed to remain.

The sack drops to the floor with a heavy thud, and the noise is enough to awaken Ben. His eyes flicker open, his gaze immediately meeting hers.

Rey is the first one to look away.

The memories from his mind still swirl in hers, like aftershocks of an earthquake or side effects from a potion. She still sees herself through his eyes, and as much as she wants to wave her hand, to dismiss the visions as nothing more than a view through rose colored glasses, she can’t bring herself to wipe them away. 

They stick to her, like burs to your clothes, prickly and instant, clinging with every ounce of strength.

He says nothing, and she remains silent, her lips pressed into a tight line as she sets to work. She opens the sack, pulling out item after item with quick precision, sorting the supplies into piles designated on their use. 

The task is accomplished too soon, so Rey finds something else to do.

The room isn’t chilly, per say. Naboo has a rather enjoyable climate, but it’s the middle of the rainy season, leaving a subtle damp feeling lingering in the air. Nonetheless, Rey begins to start a fire, nursing the initial embers into flickering, lapping flames.

Then, finally she turns to him, a knife in hand. He lifts his eyes, his face serene and calm, even as she holds the dagger over him, hesitating as if she doesn’t know what would be more painful; to kill him or to let him go.

In the end, the latter wins. She saws the blade of the knife against the ropes, until they fall free from his hands and feet.

Silence hangs in the air, heavy and thick. A chill settles not just over her skin, but deep in her bones, despite the warmth the fire is beginning to fill the room with.

For a while they just sit there, on opposite ends of the room, their positions mirrored as they lean against their respective walls.

Her eyes flicker to his.

And he begins to speak.

His voice is a low rumble, quiet yet strong, like the sound of a summer storm brewing in the distance. He begins to tell her his story, begins to paint the picture of his life, every word a stroke of his brush, a splattering of paint. He tells her the story of the young, last Prince of Alderaan, of the pressure he always felt on the back of his shoulders to save the kingdom, to fix the tarnished family legacy.

How it all then came crumbling down.

He tells her of every word Snoke whispered in his ear, and how instead of succumbing to the darkness, he just ran away from it all; his family, his destiny. How hiding out at sea, living the life of a law breaking pirate was the first time he truly felt like himself. 

“Funny,” His lips twitch into a dry smirk. “I had to put on a mask, take on a different name, a different persona, to feel the most like me.”

He tells her about the first time he killed a man in combat, how sometimes late at night, he closes his eyes and he sees that man’s pale face, see’s the life beginning to flicker from his eyes.

Yet, instead of fearing that power, he engulfed himself into it. After blocking out feelings, after trying to cut himself off from emotions, there had not been a powerful high as feeling someone’s warm blood on your hands, as feeling the power of wielding a blade at the crux of someone’s throat.

How you felt like a god, how you were in utter control, puppet strings in hand.

Soon it became easier and easier to leave slaughter and blood in his wake. Killing became second nature, something he justified as just being another part of the game. How when he explored the darkness in his soul, it became more familiar, like an old friend that he could greet with understanding. It became something he no longer feared, something that Snoke could no longer hold over his head.

It became his key to freedom, his way to escape. How that all changed with a letter from his mother, informing him his time as Kylo Ren was at an end, that now she was calling upon him to fulfill his duty, to take his rightful place upon the throne.

A place, right beside her.

Then she begins to tell her story, begins to spin the tale of a child with no parents, left to starve on the streets. How she lived off of nothing but scraps and pity. How she was on the brink of starvation and death before she crossed paths with Maz. How the older woman had taken her in, bathed her, clothed her, fed her. How they became family.

How all along Rey was holding out, always searching out of the corner of her eye for someone with her hazel irises, or someone who also had the same shade of brown hair paired with freckles dusting across their nose and cheeks. Someone who looked like her, sounded like her, whose same blood ran through their veins.

How that family ended up being more disappointing than coming from drunks who had sold her off to pay a debt.

She told Ben how she was a Palpatine, how she hailed from the great, terrible house that had corrupted his own grandfather, had poisoned his mind, his rule, his legacy. How she was made from darkness, was crafted in the shadows and cloaked in nothing but blood magic.

“I thought-” She stares off into the air, a vacant, numb expression upon her face. She refuses to meet his eyes, but she can feel him staring at her, can feel the warmth that his gaze brings as it penetrates against her defenses, as it can look straight into her soul.

“I thought knowing where I came from, knowing who I was would bring me answers. That it would be the final piece, that everything would click into place.”

She shifts, her eyes lifting to meet his. “Instead I just feel more lonely. I have never felt this alone before.”

“You’re not alone.” He stares back at her, and Rey can feel the heat pooling in her stomach, can feel the warmth that he brings her slowly trickling through her veins. 

She can feel her power thrumming, like the strings of a lute. She can feel her strength growing as she looks at him, looks past the warm glow of his soft, brown irises, straight into his soul. “Neither are you.”

Slowly, she raises her hand and reaches out. She watches as he does the same. They meet in the middle, their hands hovering above one another for a drawn out a moment. And then they meet. They touch.

It’s the barest, lightest of touches, just the pads of her fingertips against his.

There’s a sharp intake of breath. She’s not sure if it belongs to him or her. She’s not sure that it even matters, for now they are one.

A vision plays before her eyes. A sight of her seated beside him on the throne of iron. Dark crowns sit upon their heads, spun from silver, twisted and sharp. They look as if they live in the shadows, dressed from head to toe in black robes, a contrast to their pale skin.

She smiles, and her teeth are bared, sharp. She has succumbed to the darkness, has taken him with her. But all is well because they’re together, because they are two halves to the same coin, reunited and in their rightful place.

_ Together. Together. Together. _

Now she knows what she must do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> feel free to follow me on [twitter](https://www.twitter.com/shuhannon)


	7. tired little laughs, gold lie promises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The sun is bright, a rare sight during Naboo’s rainy season. The clouds are soft, like wisps of cotton in the bright blue sky. For a moment he just relishes it, tips his head back and closes his eyes, enjoying the warmth of the sun’s rays that shine down upon his skin.
> 
> Then he opens them, takes in the beautiful sights of the rolling green meadows, the tall trees, lush and green from the bounty of rain, and finally, her.
> 
> She looks more and more like the woman who had saved his life and, in return, had her life saved by him. She looks more like the woman he had married, like the woman who had left him behind so many years ago.
> 
> ***
> 
> rey and ben reconnect and find that despite everything changing, also nothing has changed at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and here is chapter seven! hard to believe we're getting so close to the end. i have chapters 8 and 9 written, and i'm halfway through chapter ten (though at this rate it might be split into two.)
> 
> thank you to every one who has kudo'd, commented, or even just read this fic! what started as a fun prompt from a fic exchange, turned into the longest fic that i've written yet. it's not something i ever thought i would write, but i am so happy i did! <3

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/182242012@N03/49674694996/in/dateposted-public/)

tired little laughs, gold lie promises

we'll always win at this, i don't ever think about death

\- - - - - - - 

  
  


They fall into a routine.

They’ve taken to sleeping in the main room of the lake house, piling together any and all cushions that they could find. There’s a bedroom down the hall, but they avoid it, other than stripping the bed of it’s linens and all of it’s soft padding and dragging it down to the main living space. They have more entrances and exits, more areas to escape if the need should arise.

So they stick to the main room, where they keep the fire going, not allowing the flames to devolve into anything less than embers. They eat, feasting on fresh fruit from the nearby trees and whatever sacks of supplies are in the kitchen. It’s not much, but enough to keep hunger starved off, enough to keep them alive.

After a few days, Ben accompanies her outside.

The sun is bright, a rare sight during Naboo’s rainy season. The clouds are soft, like wisps of cotton in the bright blue sky. For a moment he just relishes it, tips his head back and closes his eyes, enjoying the warmth of the sun’s rays that shine down upon his skin.

Then he opens them, takes in the beautiful sights of the rolling green meadows, the tall trees, lush and green from the bounty of rain, and finally, her.

She looks more and more like the woman who had saved his life and, in return, had her life saved by him. She looks more like the woman he had married, like the woman who had left him behind so many years ago.

She’s looking back at him, and is that? Yes. The corners of her mouth twitch, as if she’s fighting against a smile. He can’t help but to grin in response, but then the moment is gone, shattered like a stone against glass. She’s drawn back to reality, and her features are once more schooled into a distant, cold stance.

She begins to walk, leading the way, and Ben falls into step behind her. He continues to follow her until the house is out of sight and they’re surrounded by open plains of rolling green grasses. The sound of rushing water joins the gentle breeze, rustling the tall fields, creating a melodic tune of nature. For a moment Ben can merely gape at the tall cliffs with waterfalls cascading down the sides, into a large lake at its base.

The air is warm. Spring is most certainly present, the promise of summer just around the corner.

Suddenly Ben can think of only one thing.

He begins to head towards the lake, using large strides to step through the tall grasses. His eyes are fixated on the lake, and he ignores as Rey begins to shout his name, an edge to her voice.

His clothes have a musty smell, his skin feels gritty, covered with a layer of grime. Food and firewood can wait. Right now, all Ben wants to do is to feel the cool, clean water on his face, his flesh.

Stopping at the sandy bank, he begins to tug on his clothes, undoing his belt and the ties on his tunic before yanking the garment up, over his head.

“What are you doing?” Rey barks. Ben glances over his bare shoulder at her and smirks as he takes note of the way her cheeks are flushed, the way her eyes keep darting around, as if afraid to land upon his exposed skin. 

“What does it look like?” He leans over to tug off his boots. “I’m going for a swim.”

“A  _ swim _ !?” Her voice is incongruous against the serene backdrop of nature. 

Ben begins to wade into the lake, ignoring the cold chill of the water lapping at his skin. It’s a shock at first, but soon he is not only adjusting to the change of temperature, but relishing in the feeling as the fresh water begins to wash away the dirt on his skin.

Once he is submerged up to his shoulders he leans back, his black tendrils floating on the water’s surface looking like inky marks left behind by some mysterious source, perhaps one of those creatures from the ocean’s depths that sailors discussed, the ones whose bodies could change color and shape, and had eight curling appendages. 

Finally he lifts his head and glances towards Rey who is still standing on the bank, fully dressed with her arms crossed over her chest.

“You should join me.” Ben calls to her, and despite the roaring of the water he can hear the impatient, angry huff of breath that slips from her lips. “Come on!” He begins to swim, idly kicking his feet and paddling in the water as he floats on his back. “Don’t act like you don’t want to bathe or want to clean your skin.”

He can tell he has hit a chord by the way she freezes. A moment passes. He tilts his head back, closes his eyes as he begins to float. Then he hears it, the sound of splashing as Rey wades into the lake. He glances in her direction and startles, ungracefully moving from his back to stand upright at the sight of her bare skin.

She disappears under the surface only to reemerge a few moments later, closer to him and pushing her wet hair back away from her face.

Ben swallows, but it does nothing for the lump in his throat, or the way blood has begun to rush to his cock.

His eyes are transfixed on her as he watches her paddle idly through the water. As she approaches he clears his throat, a small grin playing across his lips. “Feel better?” She shoots him a glare in response, but Ben is pleased at the way she dips her mouth beneath the water, hiding her own smirk.

For a while they both just tread water, slowly circling each other, and whether it’s intentional or not, Ben cannot tell. Nor does he really care. Their eyes remain locked, and as they swim the distance between them slowly shrinks. It's a push and pull between them, it always has been.

She splashes him.

The cold water is a shock to his system, almost as much as the fact that she’s initiated such a childish action. 

Ben wipes the water from his eyes before staring at her in shock.

A giggle slips from her lips.

He lunges.

He forgets where they are, forgets that they’re caught on separate sides of a war, forgets that he’s the king while she’s the protege of his enemy. He forgets that they should be killing one another, slitting throats and spilling blood for the sake of the greater good; for the benefit of his kingdom, his people.

All of that fades from his mind. 

The water splashes all around them. No longer are they being discreet or quiet. Rey lets out a shriek as Ben’s arms encircle her waist and he tackles her to the water, silencing her as they both dive beneath the water.

They resurface, gasping and laughing, wet hair covering their eyes and clinging to their faces. His hands linger on her body, relishing in the sensation of her soft skin. How many times had he laid down to sleep, only for his senses to be flooded with her? The way she smelled, the sound of her voice, the sight of her brow furrowed and her mouth pursed into a frown. She filled his every thought, his every breath. No wonder Ben had so many restless nights, tossing and turning, the little sleep he achieved always ending with him sitting up in bed, her name on his lips.

She pounces at him. Ben feels her pressing all of her weight into him, trying to topple him over. But like a stubborn tree with its roots firmly embedded into the ground, Ben stands firm, stands tall. Her limbs are entangled around him, her legs looping around his waist as her hands reach out to find balance, landing on his shoulders.

In this position, she’s taller than him. Not by much, but enough that Ben has to lift his chin to meet her eyes. Her face is hard to read, but he sees something longing in her eyes, sees the way she’s studying him, as if searching for something. 

Her head bends, he rises to meet her. Their lips touch, and it feels as if now everything has been found.

\- - - - - - -

This is dangerous. She’s precariously balanced upon a steep, slippery slope. One wrong move and she would be falling, unable to recover. It would be the end. Yet the idea of throwing all caution to the wind, of allowing her emotions to lead her, to guide her actions, is too seductive, too delicious to ignore.

He tastes the same, Rey cannot help but to think as her tongue slides against his. The kiss is slow, is less rushed than the first one they shared half a decade prior. But it feels the same. That thrill, that undercurrent of a charge is there. And he  _ tastes  _ the same,  _ smells  _ the same,  _ feels  _ the same.

This is still the same man despite the burden of a crown that rests upon his head, despite the new battle scars that adorn his body, and the invisible marks that taint his heart, his soul. 

But this is still Ben. Kylo Ren. No matter his name, this is her husband, the man who she is bound to by body and soul.

This is the same man.

But she is not the same woman.

She bites at him, relishes in the way he hisses, the way he intakes a sharp breath as the coppery taste of blood dances between their mouths. Their teeth bang, their mouths clash, and now something that had just been soft, had been gentle and full of feelings of gratitude, of love, is now nothing more than a lustful battle.

Rey moves her hips, grinding her core against his abdomen. Her fingernails rake through his hair, causing him to groan into her mouth. She’s moving with fervor now, her hands, her body, her lips, as if she’s been thirsty in a desert, as if he’s now that much anticipated drink.

His hands come up, his long, thick fingers encircling her wrists. Suddenly Rey is only holding onto him by her legs, and her grip around his torso tightens, pressing her body flush against his own.

“Slow down,” His mouth grazes against the base of her throat, and Rey tilts her head back, her eyes slipping shut as she relishes in the feeling of his lips on her. “Relax. We have time.”

Time was the last thing they had. Time was the only luxury they could not afford. After all, it was only a matter of time before someone found them; before Snoke caught onto their trail, or the Resistance soldiers finally tracked down their king. 

Time was not on their side, was not their ally or their friend.

But right now, for this moment, Rey ignored the practical part of her mind. Instead she allowed his voice to flow through her ears, to settle over her like a reassuring blanket providing comfort, warmth.  _ We have time. We have time. We have time. _

They had time.

Her body still felt hot and flush, despite the cool waters of the lake that they were immersed in. The sun was shining overhead, its warm rays descending down upon them, but Rey knew the weather played no part in the way she squirmed, in the way her skin felt as if it was aflame. 

No, it was all because of him.

His mouth was drifting over the column of her throat, moving at a leisurely pace as he sucked and nipped, leaving bruises in his wake. Her lips parted as her chest rose and fell with every shaking breath. 

He continues to travel downward, the tip of his nose brushing over her sternum, between her breasts as he leaves a trail of hot, open mouthed kisses. Then his mouth is encircling her nipple, his hand coming up to pinch and tease its twin, and Rey can no longer keep quiet, can no longer hold back the noises that have been building, bubbling in the back of her throat.

She moans, the sound wantonous, loud enough to compete with the roar of the waterfalls. The two noises mingle together, and Rey can feel the growing, throbbing sensation at her core. In response she juts her hips forward, taking any sort of contact she can have, any friction that she can create, and Rey is not above using his body for such a purpose.

After all, he is her husband. And isn’t this what a husband and wife are to do? Isn’t this the forbidden act meant for nowhere else than one’s marital bed?

He was walking now, moving her body in addition to his own, his arms supporting her back as their conjoined forms cut through the water. Ben continues to carry her as he wades out of the water, before he lies her body down upon the bank, the earth smelling damp and feeling warm against her back. One of his hands cups her knee as she spreads her legs, opening herself up for him.

She watches the way his tongue darts out, the small sliver of pink raking over his parted lips. Her gaze drags down his body, taking in the sight of corded muscle hidden beneath the expanse of pale skin. She notices all the marks and freckles; the scars and cuts that have just begun to heal from whatever battle he had been in. She notices the cut of his shoulders, the way his body begins to taper in at his waist, only to blossom again with his thighs, each as wide as the trunk of a tree.

Her eyes fixate on his thick cock, erect and beginning to seep between his legs. 

Suddenly the throbbing between her legs gives a jolt as a gentle breeze washes over them, causing gooseflesh to bristle over her skin and her nipples to grow more stiff, more hard.

Now it is her turn to wet her lips before her teeth bite down on the soft, plump flesh. Her eyes lift to his before she allows her legs to fall open even more. 

Rey feels as if she is going to combust, as if she is one strike of flint away from bursting into flames. Then his body is hovering over hers, his hands laying palms down on the earth on either side of her head. He has caged her in, has captured not just her mind, but her body, her soul.

She feels the tip of him, hot and ready as it teases her entrance. Then he’s pushing into her, splitting her apart in the most delicious, delirious, terrible and wonderful way. It’s like heaven and hell warped into one, and there is nowhere else Rey would rather be.

They groan in unison as he slides home, his hips flush against hers. For a moment they simply exist, adjusting to the sensation of being so full, so complete. 

Then the dance begins.

Like everything else between them, it’s a push and a pull, a give and a take. He thrusts forward and she squeezes her inner walls tightly, trying to grip him with her cunt, trying to hold him in place as he begins his retreat. 

It’s a beautiful rhythm they create, sometimes with a stray odd note, one off key or out of sync. Rey’s not sure what she enjoys most - when their bodies move as one, or when they’re fighting, battling for dominance and control - to have the final word, to gain the upper hand.

She begins to pant, moans intertwined with her breathing as he moves above her, babbling an incoherent stream of her name and phrases. Both continue to chase that climax, begin to feel their bodies climbing towards that peak. She comes before him, crying out his name as her nails rake down his back, marking him with bright red scratch marks. He hisses, but soon he’s climaxing too, spilling streams of hot come inside of her. 

For a moment they just stay there, their bodies connected as much as their hearts and minds. A breeze rustles around them, the sound of cascading water slowly drifts into their ears, off in the distance the sound of a bird calling to its flock. The spell is broken as reminders of reality begin to flood their senses.

Their uncoupling happens slowly, like a knot coming undone over time. Limbs are untangled, Ben rises to his feet and begins to pace along the bank of the lake, almost as if he’s uncertain of what to do or say. She watches him palm the back of his neck, watches him run his fingers through his hair.

“This doesn’t mean anything.” Rey blurts the words out without a single thought. Instantly she can taste regret on her tongue. Not just the way he looks at her, his eyes softening before taking on a steely exterior. He becomes irritated in his mannerisms, cold, shut off.

She shouldn’t have said anything at all.

Chewing on her lip, she sits with her arms encircling her legs, her chin resting on top of her knees, and her thighs pressed against her chest. She feels less exposed this way, less vulnerable.

Her eyes remain trained upon him as he crouches back along the bank of the lake, his hands skimming the top of the surface, gathering water in his palms which he splashes over his face. 

As if the waters of Naboo could magically fix the situation, could provide clarity.

He remains silent for a long time. It takes all of her strength, all of her willpower to swallow her words and keep them at bay.

The air now feels cold despite the bright sun that is still shining up above. 

When he stands, Rey can feel the anger practically radiating off his body. He storms over to where their clothes lay in an abandoned pile in the grass. Quickly he starts to pull on his trousers, his movements abrupt, rough.

She can bite her tongue no more. “Did you forget we are at war?” Finally she moves to stand, feeling brave and bold as she stalks towards him, her body still bare. “Did you forget what side you stand on? What side I am on?”

“You’re going to turn.”

Her eyes flash to his. She fights the urge to stumble back, digs her heels into the soft, damp ground. 

“I saw it.” Ben continues on as he takes a step towards her, slowly crowding her, invading her space. “When we touched hands, I saw it. Rey, you come back to us. To me. You’re the one to turn against Snoke, to return to your rightful place.” He pauses, just for a moment - a breath -before murmuring, “I’ll help you.”

“My rightful place?!” She spits the words as if they are bitter poison. “My rightful place is upon that throne. My rightful place is bringing honor and glory to the Palpatine name.”

He refuses to break contact, refuses to be the first one to walk away. But Rey takes in the way the skin beneath his eye gives a twitch, the way he begins to work at his jaw. He must have heard the rumors, must have put two and two together. After all, even he could not brush it off as a coincidence, the fact that she disappears and Snoke suddenly gains a powerful protege, a mage with ties to the ancient and grand Palpatine bloodline.

She takes his silence for confirmation.

“I had a vision too.” Rey speaks, stepping forward until she stands before him, her chin tilted and her eyes fixated upon his. “I had a vision that it would be you who turned. You, who will come and stand with me.”

He doesn’t shake his head, doesn’t deny it. Rey takes another step towards him, feeling bolder and bolder with every movement, every word. “I feel the conflict in you. I can sense it. How much you long for the open sea, for the power, the bloodshed. You were not meant to rule. It was not your destiny, merely a shift in plans. But with me on the throne and you by my side.” Her voice begins to trail off. She raises a hand, brushes the pads of her fingers against his lips, his cheek. “We can be unstoppable.”

For a moment, she thinks that this is all it will take. That he will see that  _ this  _ is the path to take. 

His movements are slow as he lifts a hand, his grip firm as his fingers encircle her wrist. Then he’s pulling her hand away from his face, dropping her arm abruptly as if he has been burned.

He says nothing. No words leave his lips. But his actions speak loud enough.

Rey tries to ignore the sting his actions leave behind, tries to push away the way her heart begins to crack yet again, how it begins to break.

_ Turn the pain into power _ , Snoke’s voice whispers in her ear. She doesn’t even startle at his presence in her mind, even after spending the last few days blocking him out.

Ben turns to go, tugging his shirt on over his head as he walks in the direction of the lake house. 

Rey waits until he’s almost out of sight before she slips on her clothes and begins to follow him.

\- - - - - - - 

Once again, they sit by the fire that night. It’s now part of their routine, ingrained in their bodies despite the short time they have spent on Naboo. The fire crackles, the flames flicker, lapping at the air. 

They eat in silence, the only sound shared between the two is the scraping of their utensils against their bowls.

The quiet feels suffocating, feels as if it’s drawing all of the oxygen from the room. Rey has been through worse, has experienced different kinds of torture, yet this is perhaps the most painful of them all.

“You never asked.” She finally says, her eyes trained upon his face. He doesn’t look at her, doesn’t look up or even flinch as she flings the words into existence. So she continues on. “Why I was on Kef Bir. You never asked what I was doing there.”

There’s a drawn out pause. Rey is about to speak again, snap, lash out with her words, to do anything to get a reaction, anything to break this silence.

“I didn’t need to ask.” He still avoids looking at her, his gaze instead fixated somewhere above her shoulder. “I knew why you were there.”

Now it is her turn to be silent.

“Which is why I got there first.” 

A sense of panic begins to bubble in the center of her chest. It’s slow at first, like a pot of water hanging over a hearth, just beginning to boil. 

“No.” Her voice cracks over the single word, but Rey finds that she does not care.

He still refuses to look at her, still refuses to face her.  _ Coward _ , Snoke whispers in her ear.

“I destroyed it.”

Rey stands, ignoring as her dinner falls to the floor, the bowl and utensils clattering against the stone tiles. “You didn’t.” She refuses to believe it, even as she hears the truth in his voice, even as his eyes finally rise to meet hers.

Hot tears begin to run down her cheeks. “That wayfinder was my last chance- It was the only lead I had.”

In the back of her mind, Snoke roars. Her master is not pleased. He is angry with her, and Rey knows it is only a matter of time before she has to face him, before she has to accept the consequences for his failures.

“I had to do what was right for my people, Rey.” Ben stands now too, his form towering over hers. “I couldn’t let you do it. I cannot let you bring him back.”

“But what about me!?” She roars, and the tears are falling freely now, each one hot against her skin, reminders of her weaknesses, her failures. How she allows her emotions to dictate her actions. “This was my last chance. This was my only shot at- at-”

“At what?!” Ben snaps back, a flush rising on his cheeks. “At a family?! Rey, you had a family. You had a mother who loved you. A husband who- who-”

“Stop.” Her hands are shaking as they curl into fists at her side. “Don’t you dare act like our marriage was anything more than a political alliance. We never even spoke before the ceremony. We had only seen each other once before-”

“That was all I needed.” Her brow furrows. But then she feels it, she can hear him, hear his thoughts echoing in her mind.  _ One look was all I needed before I knew that I loved you. _

“What about you?” He presses, stepping towards her. “When did you realize it?” 

His words are scarce, are used sparingly, are chosen with care. But she can read between the lines, can hear his voice once again in her mind.  _ When did you feel it, this connection between us? When did you know I was there, had a home in your heart? And when did you decide to betray us, to turn your back on everyone you loved? _

“You do not understand what it is like.” Her bottom lip trembles, and she raises a hand to angrily wipe at the tears falling from her eyes. She watches his eyes begin to soften, sees the pity etched into his features.

Pity is for the weak.

“Then let me in,” Ben pleads, moving forward, and suddenly he’s cradling her cheek, suddenly he’s invading her space, his body crowding hers. “Rey, please. Talk to me. I can help you.”

_ I am nothing, _ her words drift into his mind.

_ But not to me, _ he sends right back across the bond, the tether that connects their minds, their souls.

_ You are nothing, _ Snoke begins to sneer.  _ You are a nobody. A street rat. Your parents were weak, just like you. Drunks who did not have an ounce of magic in their blood despite the Palpatine name they bore, for they were not worthy. They had to abandon you, couldn’t even sell you off for drinking money, for they knew your true value. Your worth. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. _

“No.” She shakes her head, squeezes her eyes shut. Her pulse is racing, her blood coursing too quickly through her veins. Suddenly it feels as if the world is beginning to close in. Emotions are swirling in her heart, in her mind, and it all is becoming too much.

The room begins to shake. Suddenly the glass bursts, shattering into thousands upon thousands of pieces that fly into the air. A gust of air pushes through the room, extinguishing the flames.

They are shrouded in darkness, yet it does nothing to stop the power bursting from Rey.

The air turns into a funnel, begins to swirl around the perimeter of the room. Distantly she hears Ben calling her name, pleading for her to stop.

Oh, but she is just getting started.

She drops to her knees, her head tips back as her eyes begin to roll inside of her head. She begins a chant, nonsense words slip from her lips, a spell, a prayer. Ben lets out a cry. He begins to scream in agony as she reaches forward, as she begins to claw at his mind.

He has seen the map. He has looked inside of the way finder. He knows the way.

I could keep him, a small voice thinks from somewhere deep inside of her mind. He could stay with me, could be of use. With time he will realize the error of his ways. With time he will join us.

_ NO _ ! Another voice snaps. But it is not Snoke’s hoarse yell. No - that voice belongs to another. It belongs to…. to her? 

_ Yes _ , she purrs into her own ear. It’s the dark part of her soul, the portion that’s fighting for control, fighting to take over, like a cancer that is beginning to spread.  _ Rip it from his mind. Take it. Leave nothing but blood in your wake. Kill him. End the Skywalker reign. _

But she doesn’t want to kill him. She doesn’t want to suck the air from his lungs, doesn’t want to watch the life leave his body.

He screams again in agony, as Rey continues this inner struggle, continues to battle with herself.

Everything stops.

The wind dies down. She falls forward, throwing out her hands to catch herself as her palms make contact with the floor. She hears Ben panting, gasping. Hears the thud of the furniture clattering back down to earth.

She opens her eyes, seeing nothing but spots and a dark, blurry form. Ben’s there. He’s moving. He’s alive.

A wave of relief washes over her, and that is when everything goes black.

When she awakens, she is alone. This time, it is Ben who left. This time, Rey is the one who is left behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> feel free to follow me on [twitter](https://www.twitter.com/shuhannon)


	8. but i guess we're really fighting ourselves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He spots her in the distance, a dark shadow moving through the slaughter, magic humming through her veins. He can hear her, can feel her. She calls to him, and it takes every ounce of strength in his body to not answer that call, to not drop his sword and walk towards her.
> 
> After all, walking away from her had been the hardest thing Ben ever had to do.
> 
> ***
> 
> rey and ben cross paths on the battlefield.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we're headed into the final act of this story! everything is written and complete, and though it might seem like we've taken an angsty turn, i promise this fic does have a HEA. 
> 
> i will warn you now, that there is a major character death in this chapter. however just like dumbledore once said, 'those who love us never really truly leave us.' plus this is star wars. no one that dies in this fic will stay dead. ;)

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/182242012@N03/49744107786/in/dateposted-public/)

_ we gladiate but i guess we're really fighting ourselves _

_ roughing up our minds so we're ready when the kill time comes _

_ \- - - - - - - _

  
  


The ground is cold, frozen beneath his boots. It adds another challenge, another factor as he and his advisors pour over map after map, debating strategy as they try to anticipate Snoke’s next move.

The man is unpredictable. His power is unmatched and as for her…

She is his greatest weapon. The one thing that Ben cannot destroy.

He spots her in the distance, a dark shadow moving through the slaughter, magic humming through her veins. He can hear her, can feel her. She calls to him, and it takes every ounce of strength in his body to not answer that call, to not drop his sword and walk towards her.

After all, walking away from her had been the hardest thing Ben ever had to do.

They meet in the center of the battlefield. The soldiers began to part, like Moses and the Red Sea, allowing a wide berth between the king and queen. Slowly, she begins to circle him, and he mirrors her movements as they continue to walk, each step in sync with one another.

He doesn’t dare to look away from her, doesn’t even blink as his eyes remain fixated on her.

She looks thinner, her face gaunt. A long wound stretches across her cheek, down over the sharp angle of her jaw. It’s new, the skin still puckered and pink.

He feels a surge of emotion, one that is complicated and layered, too hard to unpack at such a pressing time. But he knows whose hand has drawn upon her face, he knows what that scar represents.

Punishment. A clear mark for all of Snoke’s followers to see, to whisper about behind her back. A mark that says he is not to be crossed, not to be betrayed.

He can hear the broken man’s slick, oily voice in the back of his mind. For betrayal is insolence. Betrayal means punishment. How lucky she only walked away with a scar. How lucky she was able to walk away at all.

Another emotion begins to rumble from deep within his chest. But this one he recognizes, this one he is familiar with - much like an old friend.

Anger. Hate.

He draws his sword the same time she throws out her hands, red lightning crackling between her fingertips, charged and ready to strike.

He flicks a button and the blade of his sword is engulfed in a blue flame.

She growls at him, her lip curling in a snarl, her teeth bared like a feral, rabid dog. Suddenly she looks more animal than human, but still Ben can see the woman he knows, can see flickers of his wife deep down inside. 

“You don’t have to do this.” His words aren’t even, steady and calm despite the bloodshed that continues around them. No longer is he in the middle of a battlefield. Everything else has faded away, the screams of death, the clattering of blades, the freezing, damp chill that has settled into his bones. Everything has become some distant white noise. All he can see, all he can hear - is her.

She continues to circle, her eyes distant and cold, as if her soul is no longer tethered to her emotions. As if she’s cut off from the parts that make her human. “You keep saying that. You, Snoke. Everyone keeps acting as if I’m predictable. As if I’m an obedient pet, so easily toyed with, so easily swayed.”

He purses his lips, but remains silent. His feet stop moving over the frozen ground. He digs his heels in, holding his position as her movements also still.

“People keep telling me they know me. But no one does.” She lifts her hands, brings them together as the lightning grows larger, begins to practically sizzle along her fingers. She raises a hand, assumes an offensive pose.

Ben lifts his sword, digs his heels deeper into the frozen ground, his legs spread wide. He licks his lips, can feel his heartbeat drumming with anticipation.

“But I do.”

She lashes out, and the red lightning shoots through the space between them, a perfect scarlet arc.

He drops the sword, ignoring as the flames extinguish and the bewitched steel clatters to the cold, hard ground.

Ben shoots out his hands. 

Blue lightning meets crimson. A thunderous boom sounds as their powers become locked in a stalemate.

He grits his teeth, feels his powers waver, feels his feet begin to skid across the ground. He hears her yell, a sound of pure adrenaline, something that is the definition of a battle cry.

Their powers intertwine, creating a purple orb that continues to grow. Ben’s eyes dart between the sphere of energy and Rey. He can see it so easily in his mind, can see the scene that was about to play out before them.

He shouts her name, his voice drowned out as the orb explodes, shrouding the battlefield in nothing but a blinding light. He can see nothing but white as the air is knocked from his lungs. His body is thrown backwards, and Ben can do nothing to stop it, can do nothing to save himself, to save her. 

He hands with a heavy thud, can feel his armor clad back skidding across the frozen tundra.

For a moment Ben can do nothing but lie there until the light begins to fade away, until his eyesight has returned, and once more air has entered his lungs. His body aches, his mind is still spinning, still reeling. Slowly, he rises upon shaky feet, which is when Ben sees the perimeter of bodies, some dead, some merely knocked unconscious from the blast.

But he is not a king right now. His mind is not worried for his soldiers, his people, his men.

Instead his gaze is fixed upon her, as she too rises to her feet. He can see a stream of blood beginning to trickle from her temple, taking in the way her bottom lip is bruised and swollen.

But she is standing. She is moving, is breathing, is alive.

She raises her hands, tries to summon more lightning - but is met with empty fingers. She howls, the noise a mixture of anger, of frustration. But not defeat.

No, this battle is not over yet.

_ You know what you have to do,  _ a warm voice murmurs in his ear.

She runs towards him, sword in hand. She lets out another battle cry, and Ben only has moments to move, seconds to think.

He begins to run, pushing his body at full force, willing his legs to move as fast as he can. Then he drops, begins to slide on his knees, his hand reaching out and curling around a familiar hilt. He rises at the last possible moment, and the steel blades meet, clashing in the middle.

Their movements are muddled, weak. But Ben parries every one of her advancements, and she deflects every one of his. Their bodies begin to slow as they continue to pant, to sway on their feet.

Once more they are at a stalemate, are equally matched. Each meet of their swords lessens in friction and heat, the anger behind each swing begins to lessen. 

Then he sees it. She lowers her sword, her shoulders begin to relax. Their eyes meet. He knows what he must do. He knows what needs to be done.

Ben drives his sword into her stomach.

\- - - - - - -

His sleep is broken, full of nightmares that haunt him, of people long ago lost, who are nothing but characters of his past.

He hears the yells of his father, the way his mother fights back, her tongue as quick and sharp as a dagger. She taunts him, berates him, reminds him of his place, of his soiled blood and checkered background.

How he is nothing.

He fires back, teasing her, calling her princess and threatening to leave, to never come back.

Sometimes Ben would wish that he would make good on his word and just stay away. Life was always simpler without his father at home. He began to dread the day when he would pull up on horseback, full of far fetched tales of his life at sea. How he saw mermaids and sirens swimming in the murky depths, how he fought off swashbuckling pirates and recovered gold, barely getting out alive by the skin of his teeth.

As a child, Ben had revelled in these stories. He had hung on every single word, had made his father recite them over and over again. Han Solo could paint a pretty picture with nothing but words, but with time and clarity those works of art began to fade. They became nothing more than a cover, a charade.

Ben soon did not trust a single word that fell from his lips. He was a man full of nothing but tall tales of mythical creatures that did not exist. He was a drunk who spent too much of his mother’s inheritance and the kingdom’s coin on gambling and mead. 

He was useless. A coward.

When Ben was in his teen years, his father decided the next trip he went on was one for father and son. They would be hunting boar in the western woods. 

Ben was filled with more and more dread every passing day leading up to the excursion. He did not want to traipse through the woods with his father, searching for some poor, helpless animal. He did not want to chase it down, corner it, and assault it with arrow after arrow until it was too weak to move.

He did not find it victorious to drag the bleeding carcas back to the castle, and feast on it while boasting of honor and glory.

For what was so powerful about taking the life of something smaller than you? Of something weak and defenseless?

Anyone could kill a pig.

Not everyone could kill a man.

Ben and his father bickered the entire time. The young prince was surly, his mood sour as they broke off into smaller groups. Putting distance between himself and his father, he drifted off into the woods on his own. He began to daydream, began to wonder how many more years he would have to waste behind the castle gates until he could slip away, could be in control of his own life, his own destiny.

Where no longer did he have to live as the last prince of Alderaan, and instead could be someone that did things. That saw the world. That made a change, a difference.

  
  


A person whose name could be earned, created and molded like clay into a bowl, instead of merely being another family heirloom passed down from generation to generation.

The sound of branches rustling filled his ears. Ben instantly froze. His eyes began to scan through the thick brush, crossbow raised and aimed, his finger hovering over the trigger.

The boar burst into the clearing up ahead. Ben had perfect sight of it. He had a shot. He could take it, could kill the beast and end this whole trip right here and right now.

Slowly he lowered his weapon.

There was a crack of a fallen twig underfoot. The pig startled, darted ahead and out of Ben’s line of vision. He stood there for a moment, weapon down by his side. He took a step forward, ready to find a good spot by a tree to wait out the hunting excursion.

A man screamed.

He became a flurry of motion, running towards the blood curdling sound, pushing through the thicket of trees and bushes, ignoring the sting as branches whipped at his face and hands. 

Ben stumbled into a clearing. There laid a man, his body beginning to twitch, his hands clutching his gut.

Slowly he stepped closer, the color draining from his face as his eyes looked down upon the face of the man.

His father.

“Ben-” Han gasped.

He felt his stomach lurch at the sight of his father’s blood coated fingers, applying pressure to his wound, trying to hold his abdomen together, to stop his guts from spilling out onto the forest’s floor.

He felt a wave of nauseousness, felt his stomach jolt once again. He dropped to his knees, and began to look frantically around.

“Ben-” His father said again, but the prince ignored his quiet pleas.

“ _ Help _ !” Ben began to yell, cupping his hands around his mouth. Where was the rest of the hunting party? Where was Chewbacca? He was the master of the hunt. He was his father’s right hand man, who was supposed to make sure things like this didn’t happen.

“Help!” He screamed again, his voice cracking.

“ _ Ben _ .” His father lifted a shaking hand, reached out to grip his shoulder. “Ben, it’s no use. I’ve lost too much blood. The wound is too deep.”

_ I’m already gone. _

Ben stared at his father, mouth open and hands shaking. He took in the gray parlor of his father’s complexion, drank in the sight of the dark, rich blood that continued to leak from the wound, drenching the front of his clothes.

A metallic scent hung heavy in the air. His father was dying, and there was nothing Ben could do.

“I should have shot it.” Ben began to stammer, stumbling over his words as they poured from his mouth. “I saw it. I had the shot. I should have taken it.”

“Shhh-” Han shook his head. “You have to listen to me, Ben. I need you to do one last thing. I don’t want to go like this. Slow and drawn out. It needs to be over. Needs to be quick.”

He felt warm leather slip into his hand, felt the familiar weight of a dagger. Glancing down, he saw it was his father’s dagger, the one he always carried fastened to his hip. The knife he used for everything, that was always by his side.

Ben knew what he had to do.

His hands did not shake as he lifted the dagger. He did not look away, did not allow himself to feel remorse.

Instead he recalled every moment his father had been a disappointment, every time he had broken his promise, his word. He heard the voice of Han Solo reciting every excuse in the book, every reason why he had missed another holiday, another celebratory feast, another year of celebrating Ben’s birth.

He heard every argument his parents had shared, every time his father had screamed about not wanting this life, about not wanting to raise his son to be pampered and weak.

Ben looked his father in the eye, then drove the dagger deep into his father’s heart. Then he twisted the knife.

A hand was raised. Ben felt the life slipping from his father’s body just as his hand began to slip from his shoulder. Han reached up, using the last of his breath, his strength. The tips of his fingers brushed against Ben’s cheek before falling back down to his side.

His father took a shaky breath. Exhaled, his chest stuttering, the last of the air leaving his lungs, raspy and slow.

Han Solo is no more. 

Han Solo is dead.

\- - - - - - -

The night before the battle, he cannot sleep. He paces back and forth in his tent, wanders through the camp. The frozen earth crunches beneath his feet. He feels restless. Uncertain of himself, of his actions. 

For he knows what will happen if he faces her upon the battlefield. He knows if their swords meet that she will be aiming to kill. She would slit his throat, would drain every ounce of life from his body without a bat of an eye.

Rey clings to life, digs her nails into it and holds on for the ride. She does what it takes to survive. 

But Ben is soft. Ben is weak. He would willingly place his head upon the chopping block if it meant saving her. He would walk without a sword in his hilt, his eyes closed and his arms wide open into a throng of Snoke’s soldiers as payment for her freedom.

He would sacrifice himself, his throne, his kingdom and it’s people all for her.

Which is why he cannot win.

Eventually he finds himself beyond the perimeter of camp, out in the woods. It’s dangerous. He shouldn’t be here, shouldn’t be alone, so far away from the protection of his men.

But Ben does not worry. He does not fear the unknown. Not any more. For no fate can be worse than the one she has bestowed upon him, for the curse of her love that dictates every action he takes, every thought that enters his mind.

He is entirely and utterly hers. She could snap her fingers and he would come running, would be at her beck and call.

His footsteps slow as he reaches the center of the clearing, before his legs falter and he drops to his knees. His eyes drift shut, and Ben begins to plead; to his ancestors, to the monarchs before him. He needs answers. He is running out of time. There are so many paths before him, yet the only ones he can see all lead to her.

“Hey kid.”

Ben’s head jerks up, his lips part and his eyes bestow upon the form of his father. Slowly, Ben rises on shaking feet. 

He steps towards the man, who looks as healthy and whole as the morning of that hunt so many years ago.

“I miss you, son.”

“Your son is dead.” The words tumble from Ben’s mouth. “Your son died with you in that clearing.”

“No.” He watches the figure of his father shake his head. Watches the ghost of a smirk play across his lips. “No, my son is here. My son is alive and strong. My son is the true and rightful king.”

“I am a failure.” Ben jerks his head, taking a shaking step back. “My kingdom is in ruins, torn apart by civil war. Everyday more and more of my people die. Every day more blood is shed, more soldiers fall. And I allow it. I let them because I am weak.”

Because of her.

“Your mother’s legacy-”

“It’s too late.” His eyes lift to meet his father’s, begin to dart back and forth as they study his face. How many times had he needed to see his father? How many times had he needed his guidance, his hand upon his shoulder, his gruff voice in his ear letting him know everything would be too fine?

“Your mother may be gone.” Han continues on. “But not what she stood for, what she fought for. Not what you fight for, now. That’s not gone. And it never will be, as long as you take the stand, Ben. As long as you do what’s right.”

A silence hangs between them, but for once it does not feel heavy and stale. It does not feel like a wide chasm has grown between the father and son, that the distance is too far to cross.

For once Han Solo showed up when Ben needed him. For once he was there.

Slowly he exhales, the shaky breath visible like smoke in the frigid air. “I know what I have to do.” He lifts his eyes, brings his gaze to meet Han’s. “But I don’t know if I have the strength to do it.”

A hand is lifted. Han cups his son’s cheek, and the touch feels familiar and warm. Han’s thumb brushes back and forth, and for a moment, a mere second, Ben allows himself to relish in the touch, to lean into the palm of Han’s hand.

“You do.”

“Dad-” Ben stops, taking a shaking breath as his bottom lip begins to tremble. He fights the urge, refuses to waste this moment on fallen tears, on crying.

A slow, lopsided grin stretches across his father’s lips. A trademark smile that only Han Solo was known for.

“I know.”

\- - - - - - -

He strikes home, strikes true.

She gasps, her lips parted, forming an o shape as the realization of what has just happened begins to sink in. She looks down to her abdomen, stares and tries to process the fact that the blade of his sword is inside of her, that she can see the blood begin to form around it’s entrance point and also start to trickle down her side.

Shock and adrenaline mix, coursing through her veins. She should feel pain, feel anger, feel betrayal.

Instead she feels nothing but peace.

For this is the end. This is the way she can be free.

The rest of the world begins to fade away, as her body stumbles, begins to fall. He catches her, his arms enveloping her body, supporting her, guiding her as he falls to his knees. He cradles her, and Rey’s eyes find his. She reaches up, skims her fingertips against his lips. But instead of feeling dry, chapped skin she is surprised to feel moisture. 

Tears.

They fall from his eyes in rapid succession, skirting over the curve of his cheek, alongside the aquiline shape of his nose. She parts her lips, tries to speak, to bring him comfort, to let him know that it will all be okay.

“Shh,” He murmurs, as he draws her close until her body is nestled against his. He is her shield, her protector in these final moments, will love her until the very end.

Even though she was broken. Even though she turned her back on him, betrayed him time and time again. Even though he offered her the world in the form of an outstretched hand, she had refused to take it.

How foolish she had been, how selfish and cruel.

Yet his love persisted. Yet he continued to chase her, to hold out on hope.

Now, Rey knows that this is the best way for things to end.

She knew what he had to do. She knew he would have the strength to do it.

“Ben-”

“Shh-” He shakes his head, his hand coming to brush against her temple, his fingers stroking her hair. His bottom lip trembles, and for a moment he closes his eyes, squeezing them shut as more tears fall. 

But then he’s looking at her, he’s raising her hand to brush her knuckles against his lips. “I know. I know.” He whispers.

She can feel herself fading, can feel the breath growing ragged in her lungs. She is waiting for the darkness, waiting to succumb to nothing but black shadows.

Yet instead, Rey sees the light.

It is warm, welcoming. 

“Rey-” She hears her name falling from his lips, hears him chanting the same words over and over again, much like a prayer. “I love you. I love you. I love you.”

“I know.” She tells him.

And then her eyes slip shut. She allows herself to drift towards the light, allows the serenity to flood her body, her mind.

_ Peace _ .  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> all comments/kudos appreciated! also feel free to follow me on [twitter](https://www.twitter.com/shuhannon)


	9. do you even want to go free?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Slowly his body rocks, as he presses his lips to her forehead, her skin strangely pale and cold to his touch. She stares back at him, eyes wide and lifeless. “I’m sorry.” He whispers, the words cracking as his bottom lip trembles. A sob slips out, and all he can do is to press his face against hers, to cling to her, to his wife, to the woman he loves.
> 
> “I’m sorry.” Ben continues to chant. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”
> 
> Then he stops.
> 
> He knows what he needs to do, he just doesn’t know if he has the strength to do it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we're almost at the end! once again thank you so much to everyone whose left a comment or kudos. this is the longest fic i've ever written, and it's funny to think it all started as a vague prompt from a reylo fic exchange. 
> 
> the final chapter/epilogue is written and beta'd, so my goal is to have it posted by the weekend. hope everyone is staying sane and safe!
> 
> also a reminder, not everyone that appears dead stays dead. ;) i promised a hea and that's exactly what i'm going to deliver.

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/182242012@N03/49804181177/in/dateposted-public/)

"secretly you love this, do you even wanna go free?"

let me in the ring, i'll show you what that big word means

\- - - - - - -

He holds her still, cold body for a moment before he draws her lifeless form close to his chest. His own body shakes, and the blood that trickles from the wound in her abdomen has begun to slow.

Ben doesn’t remember removing his sword from her body, but he must have, for now it lays on the frozen ground beside them, forgotten, the iron blade coated with blood.

Her blood.

Slowly his body rocks, as he presses his lips to her forehead, her skin strangely pale and cold to his touch. She stares back at him, eyes wide and lifeless. “I’m sorry.” He whispers, the words cracking as his bottom lip trembles. A sob slips out, and all he can do is to press his face against hers, to cling to her, to his wife, to the woman he loves.

“I’m sorry.” Ben continues to chant. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

Then he stops.

He knows what he needs to do, he just doesn’t know if he has the strength to do it.

  
  


\- - - - - - -

Ben isn’t sure where to go. The only thing he can think of is to get out of there, that he needs to put as much space between the armies and them.

He stumbles through the frozen forest, his legs shaking as he carries her limp body in his arms. His hands are shaking as he reaches out. The cold wind whips at his exposed skin, as it picks up in speed. He closes his eyes, keeps them clenched shut as he uses every last ounce of energy to summon the portal. The branches of the trees begin to shake, the debris of the forest is collected in the funnel of air.

But just when he thought it wasn’t working, it appears before them. Ben doesn’t waste a moment before he rushes into it, clutching her body with his cold fingers.

He didn’t have a location in mind. His only thought had been singular in purpose. The only word running through his mind had been nothing more than ‘away.’ 

But as he stumbles onto the other side, he is met with sand beneath his boots and warm sun rays shining down upon them.

No, not them. Only him.

His knees collide with the ground, the hot sand shifting beneath the additional weight. He can’t move anymore, can’t walk one more step.

Grief overcomes him. This heaviness sinks in, and suddenly it feels impossible to move, impossible to think. His mind is swirling in this blackness as the hollow feeling of emptiness consumes him.

A shaking hand lifts to her face. His knuckles tremble as they brush against her temple, her cheek, her jawline. He cradles her, caressing every part of her body, willing himself to think that this is a terrible dream that he will soon wake from. He will roll over in bed, to discover her body beside his, warm and full of life. She will smile at him, and everything will suddenly be alright.

But this is cold, cruel, harsh reality. This is not a dream, not a figment of his imagination. He cannot pinch his flesh, wake up and discover that everything is fine. This is not something that can be easily fixed.

And to think it’s all because of him. To think that he had to make the ultimate sacrifice, that she had to die by his own hands.

“I love you..” Ben whispers, drawing her close and holding her tight. He ducks his head, presses his forehead to her own. “I will always love you.”

Only then, in the solitude of this warm, forgotten beach, with the sound of the waves gently crashing in upon themselves, surrounded by the soft, hot sand beneath their bodies, does Ben allow himself to cry.

He weeps openly, his body wracked as the sobs erupt from the very core of his soul. He allows his tears to fall, the droplets of salty water collecting on her pale, gray skin. Ben holds her close, and he continues to cry until his throat has gone raw, until he has no more tears to expel, until he has nothing left to give.

And then he cries some more.

\- - - - - - -

Warmth.

All she feels is warmth. The sky is clear and blue, a gentle breeze moves through the air, rustling the tops of the trees. She closes her eyes, tilts back her face and relishes in the feeling of the sun’s rays as they shine down upon her, the heat welcomed against her skin.

“My child.”

Looking up, Rey smiles at her mother. The older mage looks just as Rey remembers her, skin weathered and tan, but golden eyes wise, kind.

Maz was the mother who had for so long filled the void in her life, who had given her family when she had nowhere to go, no one to turn to. Maz had stepped in, had saved her.

And how did she repay her? How did she carry on her mother’s legacy?

By disowning the Kanata name. By being consumed by the blood that ran through her veins, the blood that gave her life opposed to the woman that had filled her starving belly, who had bathed her bruised, broken skin. Who had shown her nothing but love.

Rey breaks out into a run, stumbling over her steps like a newborn colt. She throws herself at her mother’s feet, encircles her arms around the older woman’s legs as she begins to weep into her gowns.

“I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry I betrayed you.”

She feels the faintest of touch on the top of her head, feels Maz’s wrinkled fingers stroking her cheek. “Shh, my child.” Rey tilts her face up, and once more is overcome by the love that is so evident on her mother’s face.

“You had to walk this path on your own. No one could take this journey for you.” The woman pauses, chin tilted as she fixates on Rey with a knowing gleam in her eye. “And now you know what you must do.”

“No-” Rey shakes her head before slowly rising, her hands still clinging to Maz, eager for any contact with the mother she had lost so long ago. “It’s too late. Everything is too far gone-”

“No one is ever truly gone, my child.” Maz smiles. “And it is not time for your journey to end. You have so much more to do. Your story is not over yet.”

\- - - - - - -

Days pass by.

The battle ends, though it is uncertain who wins and who loses. Death is all around them. The ground is too frozen to even think of burying the dead, so instead they pile the bodies onto great pyres.

When night comes, they light them. The flames lick at the corpses before engulfing them entirely.

Some soldiers whisper prayers for their brothers in arms. Others count their blessings, thankful for the breath still in their lungs. Then there are the few who find solace in their tankards, drinking themselves into a stupor, trying to forget all the lives they claimed with the blades of their swords before they find a place to collapse, to pass out and most importantly, to forget.

Meanwhile, in a tent at the center of camp, Poe Dameron pours over maps and letters, shadows beneath his eyes and a shake to his hands.

“Sleep.” His colleagues advise, but he merely waves them off. How can he rest at a time like this? How can he lay his head down, only to rise in the morning and inform the members of this army that their king is gone?

No, he cannot sleep. There is too much work to be done.

\- - - - - - -

Time passes differently.

Hours could have passed. Days. Months even. Or perhaps it was only minutes, maybe even something as rapid as seconds. 

The tears have long ago stopped falling. Trails of the dried, salty water have stained his cheeks in streaks. He doesn’t speak, but he knows if he did, his voice would be nothing but a raspy croak or a dry whisper. His entire body aches so much that Ben would not be surprised if he turned into stone, if he and Rey were forever immortalized by becoming a statue, erect in the middle of this forgotten beach.

The sun begins to set. It paints the sky a soft shade of pink, tinted with orange, almost like the flesh of a peach. A soft feeling of peace and serenity washes over them, and as Ben lifts his head to look out over the waters, to watch the sun as it begins to disappear over the horizon, he once again knows what he must do.

It’s simple really. In fact, Ben feels foolish for not thinking of it before. Of course there is no guarantee, but then again there is no guarantee in life nor death. Things cannot get any worse than they are in this present moment in time.

There were rumors. Things whispered in the darkest corners of the earth. Talk of mages able to cure the ill, of being able to heal cuts and wounds that went too deep. But to restore life into a cold, dead body? To once again return a beating to their heart? To bring life to their eyes?

It was a risk, but one Ben was willing to take. For what is the point of magic, what is the point of being a mage? Of having the advantage of being more than a mere human? Why put something into the universe, when you cannot do the one thing you wish more than life itself?

He lifts his hand and raises it to cover her own, which has come to rest over her abdomen. He shifts her body in his grasp, straightening his back. His eyes slip shut in an attempt to focus. 

Just as his limbs feel heavy, as if his veins have been flooded with concrete, the impossible occurs.

At first he thinks it's nothing more than wishful thinking, a trick of his brain. But then he feels it, feels her palm covering the back of his hand, her fingers splayed over his own. He feels her body begin to move against his own as she rises up, her movements shaking, but the color has returned to her flesh and her eyes are no longer distant. No, instead they blink with confusion - but also life.

Life.

“Ben-” She whispers his name, and her hand is now coming up to cup his cheek, as if she cannot believe he is here, as if she cannot believe that he is the one staring at her, that she is the one who has been brought back to life.

She studies his face, lifts a finger to trace his brows, the bridge of his nose, the cupid’s bow of his lips. And then her lips surge forward, moving to capture his own in a kiss. It’s heated, passionate, full of feeling and life itself. She tastes salty and sweet on his lips, and very gently he feels her tongue tentatively nudge forward, parting his lips.

And now everything feels perfect, feels entirely divine.

They pull back, just enough to hold one another close, his hand on the back of her head, her hands still cupping his cheeks. 

He smiles, flashing his crooked teeth. The action feels genuine and pure, and the last thought to cross his mind is gratitude, for the magic, for the gods, for whatever powers at be that had allowed this to work.

What he forgets is that magic always has a price. That the universe demands balance, demands that the string tying together life and death remains equal and fair, that the numbers remain just.

Yet all Ben feels is peace and happiness as his body falls back. The sight of her face fills his vision, peering over him, her brow furrowed and her lips parted. He watches her mouth move, and knows that she is saying his name, yet he hears nothing as the world begins to grow fuzzy, as everything starts to fade to black.

The last thing he sees is the vision of her, a halo of soft, peach sunlight shining around her head like a crown. And the last thing he thinks, the very last thought that fills his mind before it all fades into an empty abyss, is how beautiful she is, his queen.

\- - - - - - -

She does not bury his body, for there is not a body left. No, he merely vanishes, his entire form disappearing into the universe. 

It leaves her feeling empty and cold. Her hands grasp at nothing but the salty sea air, are left to grip the sand, yet even the tiny grains slip through her fingertips. She has nothing left to hold onto, nothing left to grab.

Instead she does the only thing that she can. Rey rises to her feet, like a phoenix from the ashes. She brushes the sand from her knees, takes one last look at the last moments of sunset across the horizon, and then she turns to leave.

She puts one foot in front of the other, forces herself to ignore the stiffness in her joints, the way her limbs begin to protest and ache.

Rey begins to move. For she has been given the rarest gift of all, a second chance at life.

For Ben’s sacrifice cannot be for nothing. For his loss can not simply be rendered as another casualty of war. Because if she is going to live and he is going to remain in the grasp of death, well, then Rey will make sure it means something.

Long live the King. 

Long live the last heir to the throne of Alderaan. 

Long live the last of the Skywalkers.

\- - - - - - -

It’s miles before she comes across another sign of civilization. By the time she stumbles into the tiny village, her skin is covered in sweat, and her feet are rendered raw. She had dressed for battle in the cold north that morning - or maybe it was yesterday morning - or perhaps even the morning before that. No matter the timeline, the leather armor she had adorned her body with was not meant for the climate of the beach. She had taken off what she could, had dropped layers behind her like careless crumbs when her arms had shook, too tired to carry them.

Rey doesn’t bother with magic. She refuses to try and summon a portal, to even perform a simple levitation spell to make her journey easier.

This is the burden she must carry. After using magic for years to gain selfish means, she has no desire to use it again.

That part of her past has died.

Rey Palpatine is no more.

Yet she knows she’s not Rey Kanata, either. For that name was destined for a different life, one meant for a girl who was obedient, who fulfilled her mother’s wishes and did as she was told. Who had bit her tongue and gritted her teeth. Who had married a prince who disguised himself as a bloodthirsty pirate captain. 

Who had turned her back on it all, on her family, her people, her husband.

And all for what? A true name? To fulfill what she thought her parents would want? To fulfill her true destiny?

No. Rey had discovered that destiny is not what you were made of. Destiny was not dictated by your ancestors nor the blood that courses through your body.

Destiny was not even your parents wishes, biological or not. Destiny was what choices you made, what path you chose.

Destiny was entirely in your control.

And Rey had been allowing herself to be a puppet, had been giving away control over her life, her choices, her  _ destiny  _ for far too long.

But no more. For now she was in control.

And this path she stepped upon, this choice she made, was to not use magic. For that was the price she chose to pay.

So when Rey stumbles into the first inn she sees, perhaps the only one for miles around, and they ask her her name, she already knows what answer she will give.

It is the name she chooses for herself. The name that belonged to her husband’s father, a man who also had been without parents, who had to take a journey on his own.

“Solo. Rey Solo.” 

\- - - - - - -

For a few days, she remains in the town. Mostly keeping to herself, she ventures out of the inn shortly at sun rise. Immediately Rey makes a beeline to the shore, to take long walks on the beach before finding a spot to sit, her toes bare and buried in the sand.

She hugs her knees to her chest as she stares out, spacing as her eyes drift over the waves as they crash and curl. For hours she sits, until the tide begins to come in and the ocean water begins to lap at her feet.

Then she rises, walks some more, finds a new spot to sit and repeats the process.

Her thoughts are mostly consumed with memories, trying to piece it all together. She strains her mind, trying to remember what happened in between, after Ben’s blade entered her stomach but before she woke on a beach, wrapped in his warm embrace.

It filters back bit by bit. Rey remembers warmth. She remembers Maz. She can hear her mother’s voice echoing in her mind, can hear the soothing cadence of her voice, can feel her aging fingers combing through her hair.

But then it begins to blend with memories from her childhood, how Maz would soothe her when she was sick or got hurt, and before long Rey’s head would begin to pound, much like the ocean’s current. Her mind became a mash up of images, the timeline uncertain, and soon she couldn't differentiate what happened in this life or what happened when she was gone.

No, not gone. Dead. She was  _ dead _ . Like Ben is now.

_ But you came back, _ a slick voice murmurs into her ear.  _ You can bring him back. All it takes is your powers. All you have to give is your life, much like he gave his for you. _

_ You could restore the throne. You could make it alright. And all it would take is your life. _

She pushes the words from her mind, blocks that voice from getting into her head.

Because she’s thought about it. It wouldn’t be easy. His body was gone. It would take such power, such great sacrifice. The price would be higher. Magic didn’t take being played with lightly, and then for what? For Ben to return only to swap his life for hers yet again?

No. No, that wouldn’t be right.

But was this right? Was the breath in her lungs truly meant to be? He had killed her for a reason. She had been hungry for power, blinded really, with nothing but blood on her hands and destruction on her mind. And Rey wasn’t going to stop. Not even for him.

Yet how was it fair that she got to sit on this beach, while their kingdom was not only still fractured and broken, perhaps beyond repair, and their king was gone, the one person who could make this right.

In circles she goes. For days she thinks it over, trying to find a loophole, trying to find a way that they both get to walk this earth, that she can have her cake and eat it too.

But that in itself is a selfish way to think. For it’s not because of the kingdom, it’s not for the people suffering and the soldiers dying that she wants Ben back.

No. She wants him for herself. She wants to hold onto him and never let go.

Then one day, it begins to click. Waking every morning to go through the motions, to sit on a beach and wallow with self pity, to play the game of what if, this is not a life.

She had said she was going to make Ben’s sacrifice worth something. 

And now… now was the time to begin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> all comments/kudos appreciated! also feel free to follow me on [twitter](https://www.twitter.com/shuhannon)


	10. but secretly they're saviors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The powerful mage Rey Palpatine died upon the battlegrounds. That was the rumor that was circulating, and she was doing nothing to discredit it.
> 
> She kept to her promise, didn’t use magic even when the nights grew cold and her fingers began to grow numb. Even when her feet could not take a step further, too tired from constant travel through rough terrain. 
> 
> The life of the mage is dead, had been left on the frozen battlefield with her former self.
> 
> ***
> 
> life begins to move on with rey. some wounds begin to heal while others refuse to close.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahhh i can't believe it's the final chapter. thank you again to everyone whose commented, left a kudo or even just read this fic. 
> 
> thanks again to kaybohls for providing the initial inspiration and also to myjedilife for being my beta for the whole thing.

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/182242012@N03/49819705951/in/dateposted-public/)

_ but secretly they’re saviors _

\- - - - - - -

It takes her months to travel across the kingdom. She keeps to backroads, taking less traveled paths and stopping in towns only when her supplies are too low. Even then she keeps her hood up and her face down. Snoke has spies everywhere, has eyes and ears open in the dark corners of every village, every city, every town.

The powerful mage Rey Palpatine died upon the battlegrounds. That was the rumor that was circulating, and she was doing nothing to discredit it.

She kept to her promise, didn’t use magic even when the nights grew cold and her fingers began to grow numb. Even when her feet could not take a step further, too tired from constant travel through rough terrain. 

The life of the mage is dead, had been left on the frozen battlefield with her former self.

Because of this, it takes months before she finds the army. She has to rely on rumors and murmurs that she picks up during her scarce visits to town. 

Even when their paths finally cross, it’s not planned out. No it’s mere coincidences as she stumbles upon the outer rims of their makeshift camp.

At first, Rey debates what to do next. Does she sneak in? Does she march in, with her head held high and proud? Or does she join the refugees, the common people who follow the army from base to base, the women and children who help to cook the meals and clean the clothes, who take on the heavy burden of domestic duties while on near constant move? 

In the end, she does none of the above. The choice is made for her, as she is spotted by the patrolman. She doesn’t fight or flee as the soldiers bark questions at her. Rey doesn’t answer them either. She remains calm, neutral and as steady as a stone. They grab her by the arm, slip a hood over her head, and order her to walk.

She obeys.

They’re leading her into the center of the camp. She knows this by the way the noises grow, by the scents that begin to fill her nostrils of campfire smoke and sweaty, dirty soldiers. Rey had spent almost five years off and on in camps just like these. She could recognize one, even with her eyesight taken away.

Her feet stumble, and she’s thrown towards the ground. The hood is removed, and it takes a moment for her eyes to adjust to the dimly lit tent. Candlelight gives it a warm glow, and though it’s bare in amenities, it’s warm.

Poe Dameron stands before her. His brow furrows before the recognition washes over his face, slowly and then all at once. It’s quick to morph into confusion. After all, the dark mage was supposed to be dead. She  _ had  _ died in all senses of the word.

“You-”

She glances around them. There are other soldiers, advisors and those she assumes are in his trusted inner circle. But no one can be trusted at times of war. Rey’s not even sure Poe is the one to turn to. After all, once upon a time he had lived life by a different code, and had ignored the law in favor of the rules of the sea.

“I need to speak to you.” She hastily interrupts, moving to stand - only to be forced back down onto her knees. “Alone. It is of the utmost importance-”

Poe waves a hand. She sees the hard line of his clenched jaw, sees the way he cannot meet her eyes.

Perhaps this was a terrible mistake.

“Whatever you have to say, you can say in front of them.” He jerks his head towards the men and women that fill the tent. There’s only a handful of them, including the two sentries that had brought Rey in.

This is not ideal, but Rey knows she is in no position to argue. The fact that they have not killed her yet is only due to the fact that she’s worth more alive than dead. She’s a bargaining chip, one that could possibly be used to end this war.

But she could also be a trap. She could be a distraction meant to end them all.

Time is not on her side.

So, she begins to speak. The words come tumbling out of her mouth. About how she and Ben had crossed paths numerous times. How she was searching for something, something she thought Palpatine could give her, when really it was lying with someone else all along, how it was lying with  _ him _ .

How she had died on that frozen battlefield. How she had been brought back by their king’s hands, how he had sacrificed himself in order for her to have a place in this world once more.

“I know how it sounds.” Rey’s surprised at how her voice shakes. The wound is still too fresh. Sometimes it feels that no matter how much time passes, it will never heal over, it will never scar over, will never become anything other than pink and raw. “I know what you must be thinking. I know my words mean nothing, but-”

Poe once again raises his hand, as if to say ‘enough’, and Rey bites her tongue, swallows the rest of the rambling words that had been on the verge of pouring out.

“I need to think.” He announces after a moment, and with a swift movement of his fingers, Rey feels the soldier’s gripping her upper arms as they drag her away. And she lets them. Perhaps this is the penance she must pay for all the harm she had done. Perhaps this is just another step of her punishment.

She sits in a tent for what feels like days, hands bound behind her back, tied to a wooden pole in the very center of the tent. Guards bring her food and water, they allow her out to use the bathroom once in the morning and once at night. 

It’s not inhumane treatment, but it’s still clear what Rey’s role is here. She is their prisoner. She is at their mercy.

She does not fight, does not argue or struggle. She takes what she is given and does not ask for anything more.

She tries to keep track of time, but it’s hard from the darkness within the tent. Maybe two days have passed? Three at most?

Then Poe visits her.

“Don’t ask me why I’m doing this,” He mutters beneath his breath, more to himself than anyone else. But he lifts a dagger, and for a moment Rey thinks this is it, this is her true end.

And she feels peace. Because perhaps this is how it is meant to end. Perhaps now she and Ben could finally be together, could be reunited, allowed to spend the rest of all eternity together in the after life.

Instead of the blade striking her flesh, it begins to saw at the ropes. The bindings fall away, and instinctively Rey moves her hands, rotating her shoulder blades and rubbing at the chafed skin around her wrists.

Her eyes flicker to Poe’s. “So you believe me?”

“No.” He bluntly responds, offering a small shrug. “But I knew you once. Maybe not well, but I knew enough. I knew you loved him. And I knew him even better. If he was willing to die for you-” The man raises a hand to rake through his dark curls. “Well, I trust him. I trusted him. I was willing to die for him, so-” 

It’s not a clear answer, but it’s a start.

\- - - - - - -

It takes a long while to build trust. Rey is under near constant observation. The feeling of having every move you make watched, of always feeling eyes upon the back of your neck isn’t one she welcomes, but she understands it. Even when she feels frustrated by the lack of freedom and privacy, she grits her teeth and bites her tongue.

Slowly though, slowly there are changes. Eventually her leash is given more slack. Rey doesn’t make friends. No, that is too intimate of a word, but Poe stops side eyeing every word out of her mouth. Rose and Finn, two of his most trusted advisors, begin to ask her about her childhood with Maz, about what Queen Leia was really like.

She gives up as much information as she can. She tells Poe every one of Snoke’s tricks, every one of his plans. She rattles off the routes they would take, how large his armies are, where the weak spots lie in his strategies. She gives up as many details as she can remember.

And eventually… eventually it works. 

The tide turns. The battles rage on, but soon enough, the war is won.

Snoke is defeated. Killed not by the magic that he possesses and brags about. Not by the hands of a mage, but instead a human woman with nothing more but determination in her bones and an iron sword in her hands.

She strikes him hard and strikes him true. She strikes him for every soldier that has laid down their life for the nonsense of this war. She strikes him for every person that has lost a loved one, that has had their happiness cut short due to the power struggle that has plagued this kingdom for far too long.

She strikes him down for Leia, for Maz, two mothers who had to let go of their children, who had to entrust that their wisdom and guidance up until that point had been enough.

She strikes him down for Ben. Ben, who had done his best to rule just and fair. Ben - who had been a good king, who could have done so much more if he had only been given more time.

But most of all, Rey strikes down Snoke for herself. For every dark thought that he had placed into her mind, for every doubt and insecurity that he had coaxed out of her, had nurtured until all she could see were the flaws rather than the strength that lies within.

And she strikes him for the happiness he took from her. The chance to live a fulfilled life, to have love, a marriage, to have a family.

As his eyes grow cold and his skin grows gray, Rey does not feel remorse. She sheathes her sword, stares down upon his shrivelled body that lies at her feet, and all she sees is his weakness. All she sees is someone who has lived their life fueled by hatred, by anger and contemptment.

And now he is gone. Now enough is enough.

The battle is done. The war is won.

Now the rebuilding can begin.

\- - - - - - -

In some ways, this is harder than war. After fighting for so long, it seems odd to return to the seemingly mundane day to day life. Not to mention all the work that there is to accomplish; the rebuilding of homes, of entire villages, to the decisions made upon how they proceed without any heir upon the throne.

“You’re technically the Queen,” Poe points out to her one day. They’re on horseback, leading another group of soldiers to a small inlet that had been hit hard by Snoke’s forces. Supplies and reinforcements follow them, wagons piled high with sacks of grains and cotton, and whatever else they scrounge up along the way.

“No.” She shakes her head, refuses to meet the other man’s eye. “No, that was someone else.” A different girl, meant for a different path, a different life.

Poe doesn’t push, doesn’t ask any more questions - and for that, Rey is grateful.

She’s become closer to him. After all, he might have only known Ben Solo, King of Alderaan, for a handful of years, but he had been Captain Kylo Ren’s right hand for many more. 

It wasn’t easy to talk about him. Sometimes Rey couldn’t bear it. Sometimes she felt like it was easier to push away those memories of him, of the way she would catch glimpses of his crooked teeth when he spoke. Of the way his hands felt, sprawled across the expanse of her back. Of how he smelled, how he tasted, how he looked when he was poised over her, their bodies naked and moving in this deep, steady rhythm that somehow felt bigger than either of their mortal lives.

But for every day that Rey didn’t want to remember him, there was a day when she felt like she might explode if she didn’t. The words would blurt from her lips, spilling out of her like an uncompressed wound. Rey would tell Poe a random story, a small tidbit of their short time together, and he would respond with tales of his own.

Of course Poe’s stories were always much more exciting, coated with intrigue and action, and just a sprinkling of enough fantasy that Rey would begin to question him, wondering how much of it was exaggeration and how much was truth.

Over time they formed an unlikely bond. A friendship, of sorts. It helped Rey to feel less cold, less empty and alone. It wasn’t Ben. Then again, nothing would burn as bright as the fire of their love. But nothing would ever be like that again. It was a once in a lifetime lightning strike that would never strike the same place again. 

The odds were against her. It was a losing battle. She would forever be trying to swim upstream.

Maybe she should have never been told the odds in the first place.

\- - - - - - -

As the dust began to settle, the kingdom fell into place. It was agreed upon by the people that the throne should remain empty. Finding the next heir, the closest living to the Skywalker clan seemed distant and futile. It seemed like a tiresome, long journey in which the end result was unreliable and unpredictable. 

No, Ben Organa-Solo would be the last monarch, the last person to ever sit upon that throne.

Moving forward, the kingdom would be run by elected officials. The first of which, to no surprise of anyone, was Poe Dameron.

Poe - who had stepped up to the plate when the going had grown tough, when the times had been dark, and the outcome seemed impossible. Poe - who had no ties to this kingdom, who had spent most of his life out at sea, salty breezes filling his lungs, his hands clutching the wheel as he dictated the direction of the ship.

“You should stay,” Poe says to her. He keeps telling her that she belongs here, that they could use her help. That there are mages who are looking for answers, for a teacher, now that their brotherhood is wiped out.

Except she wasn’t a mage now. Rey didn’t know what she was. Who she was.

But it hurts to stay; to live in this castle that his family had built, that had occupied it for decades.

No, this is not her place. This is not where she belongs.

So, she bids Poe goodbye with a kiss on his cheek and a promise to write. She says goodbye to Finn, to Rose, to everyone else that she has come to care for ever since she came across their encampment.

She will miss them.

But Rey has grown used to the distance between herself and those she loves. The empty ache that fills her heart has grown familiar. Not comfortable, no it would never feel natural. Yet after feeling something for so long, it almost makes you forget what you felt like before you lost it all.

\- - - - - - -

  
  


She travels. She sees the world. She meets new people, has new adventures. It’s enough that it keeps her mind busy, that makes her forget.

Eventually her feet lead her to the sea. She takes up residence in a small coastal town, finds work and a room to stay for the near future. After all, Rey doesn’t know how long she’ll be here. Sometimes it's for weeks, other places she’s only in for a handful of days. She can’t even explain what makes her move. Just like the castle in the capital, she knows when her time is done.

She enjoys taking walks through the tall sea grasses, enjoys peering over the edge of the rocky coastline. The wind whips her hair, biting and cold against her skin, and as she stares out into the crashing waves, watches the white tips of each rolling as they break onto and into one another.

The noise drums against her ears, a subtle low hum mixed with the sound of thunderous applause.

It makes her body thrum, like the chords of a lute being strummed. She closes her eyes, and for a moment she can feel him. His presence engulfs her entire body and soul. She can feel his fingertips brushing against the back of her neck, can feel the way they dip through her hair. She can feel his lips, soft and plush against the slope of her neck that turns into shoulder, leaving a trail of kisses along the soft curve of her body.

She can feel him standing behind her, solid and warm. She can hear his voice, a low rumble much like the sound of waves upon rocks, humming into her ear.

“Come find me.” He murmurs. “As long as I am with you, I am on the right path.”

Rey turns, but already she knows it is too late. She will see nothing behind her but empty, dry fields and the gray sky looming in the distance.

Suddenly the cold hits her in a different, deeper way than it ever had before.

\- - - - - - - 

A few weeks later she begins to hear the whispers, the quiet murmurs amongst the marketplace stalls or in the dark corners of the taverns. She’s on the road again, stopping only for a quick bite to eat or a place to rest her head that’s not a meadow of grass or the base of a tree.

Rey’s been working away along the coastline, still able to spot the sea in the distance, to smell that briny ocean air. Maybe it’s wishful thinking, but every time she stops to catch her breath, she closes her eyes, wills herself to feel the same thing she had felt back upon those rocky sea cliffs.

But the sensation never comes. Her body remains cold, her heart feels empty.

He’s gone, Rey tells herself. He’s dead. He’s not coming back.

Yet she can still hear his voice echoing in the back of her mind.

Perhaps this is why she listens too closely to the stories swapped over tankards of beers, or while haggling over the price of cabbages. 

“He’s worked up the ranks too fast. Started out as mopping the decks, but now they say he’s commandeering his own ship.” One man rattles off in a hushed tone.

“Who is?” 

“He doesn’t have a name. Just dresses in black. Matches the sails of his ship too.”

Her heartbeat begins to race. No, it can’t be. It would be impossible, would be… would be like…

“That sounds like Kylo Ren.”

“I know.” The man nods his head, drinking deeply from his cup, the frothy foam of his mead coating his goatee. “But it can’t be. Ren died before the war began. And for all the damn magic that’s happening in this world, that’s one thing that can’t happen.”

“True. Not even fearsome pirate captains can defeat death.”

No, not pirate captains. But perhaps kings can.

\- - - - - - -

Rey follows the rumors and the stories. She begins to travel south, down to where most of the larger ships dock between travels. The warm weather is welcome on her chilled skin, and she wears nothing more than a linen top tucked into a pair of loose trousers, the rest of her layers either packed away in her bag or lost along the way.

The moment she steps upon the docks, she’s taken aback by the busyness, by the bustle. After spending so much time in quaint seaside towns or small villages dotted along the way, Rey had forgotten what it meant to once again be down south where the majority of the population lived, flocking to the ports where the goods came in.

It takes her a while to find her rhythm, but soon she’s slipping through crowds without being jostled or pushed to the side. She’s able to hold her own.

For a couple days she just does the same thing that she’s been doing the last couple of weeks. She lingers, listens.

The stories here are stronger, are told more like truth than some far fetched sailor’s tale. They talk of the man in black as if he’s a living, breathing thing. Which, Rey realizes, he most likely is.

What has yet to be proven, what she needs to find out, is if he’s the man she’s searching for. 

But it can’t be. No. It would be impossible…

She soon cannot sleep. She tosses and turns in the bed of the room that she rents. Every time she closes her eyes, her mind is flooded with nothing but images of him.

  
  


\- - - - - - -

Rey continues to follow the leads. She gains passage on one ship with promise of work, and gods do they work her. Her arms ache, her skin is no longer golden and tan, but instead angry and red, scorched by the unforgiving sun. Her fingers become coarse, calloused, and most days she would give nothing but to jump overboard, into the salty sea below.

The sharks might devour her whole, but at least the cool water would provide relief. It would be worth it, even if the sanctuary was short lived.

But the ship gets her to another port, where she finds work upon yet another vessel that sets sail. Rey continues to hop from ship to ship, perhaps chasing after a fever dream, or perhaps seeking her destiny.

Either way, she knows she cannot rest until she discovers where this path ends.

Rey has only been at sea a handful of days before the sky begins to turn dark and the waters grow choppy. Shouts of an upcoming storm travel through the ship, and soon every hand is on deck, tying down everything with rope and preparing for the worst. The rain begins to fall.

She grips the railing, her feet sliding along the wet planks beneath them. Gritting her teeth, Rey squints, trying to see through the curtain of rain that continues to fall down, it’s pace growing relentlessly.

The ship lurches starboard, and she can barely make out someone behind the wheel, frantically spinning it. 

“Is he daft?!” Rey shouts, her voice struggling to be heard over the roaring waves around them.

“Gotta sail at an angle!” Another man shouts back, his hands moving quickly to stow the back sails. Rey is right beside him, helping in any way she can.

The entire crew keeps moving, making sure the cargo is secure as well, as the lighter sails. It’s not long before they’re all soaked to the bone, and the night’s chill begins to settle in. The winds pick up, the sound of it howling mixing terribly with the stark contrast of the crashing waves. She spots some of the men tying ropes around their torsos, only to attach the other end to whatever part of the ship seems solid or sturdy.

Rey can’t figure out if it’s a brilliant idea or a terrible one.

It feels like the storm lasts for hours. There’s yelling between crew members, who are frantically trying to follow orders while also trying to fight for their lives. The rain falls harder, making visibility scarce, and for a while, all they can do is cling to the ship and hope the seas will settle soon.

Just as the sun begins to rise over the horizon, the weather takes a turn. The rainfall lessens, the winds calm down, and the clouds overhead turn from a dark, treacherous gray into something more neutral, tinted by the soft pink and orange hues from the rising sun.

The sea calms. The ship still rocks, but it’s something that can be controlled now. Rey looks around, and she spots the first mate trying to do a head count, in order to determine if anyone had been thrown overboard, their soul lost to the ocean.

“Land ahead!” Someone else calls, their voice still shaky and hoarse.

Rey whips her head around, makes a beeline for the starboard side of the ship, her hands clutching at the railing.

And there it is, waiting for them, a giant rock in the middle of the sea.

Ahch-To, at last.

\- - - - - - -

The air is cold and the sea remains rough and choppy, even as they approach the small island. The ship is docked, the anchor released, and the crew begins to unload the cargo below. Rey does her part, but the entire time her body is trembling, eager to step foot on dry land. Would this be her final stop? Would this be the end of her path? Or was this just another place, another mark in the map on her journey to find him.

If it even is him.

The doubts keep creeping in. For every story she hears, every bit of information she gathers about this man in black, Rey finds herself thinking that no, it can’t be him. How could it be? She watched him die. She felt the life leaving his body as it was transferred into hers.

She was on a wild goose chase, fueled only by the tiniest spark of hope.

But that spark was there, and Rey knew she could not rest until it was extinguished entirely.

Night has begun to fall by the time the cargo has been unloaded and the crew dismissed. Rey parts ways and bids her goodbyes. There are no tears shed, no lingering handshakes with promises of their paths to cross again. She did her part, worked for her passage, and the captain had delivered her to Acho-To. The deal was done.

The island has very little in terms of life. The port is small, could only house a handful of ships, and the town, if it could be defined as such, is nothing but a smattering of small buildings crafted crudely from stone. The locals speak a tongue foreign to Rey’s ears, and it takes a great deal of hand gestures and shouting before she is pointed in the direction of a small hut.

It’s not much, but after exchanging a handful of coins, it’s a place to stay. It’s a roof over her head that will keep her warm and dry. It’s somewhere she can buy her time.

And gods, does she have some time to buy.

\- - - - - - -

A new routine is formed. Rey had spent so much of her time at sea, it felt strange, yet also good, to have solid ground once again beneath her feet. She finds work amongst the locals, who seem to be more like caretakers of this distant island than anything else. A handful of ships come and go, including the vessel that Rey had arrived on a few days prior.

Due to the island’s location, it makes for a good halfway point before the ships once head out to the open seas, aiming for far off frigid lands, places like Hoth and Crait that are willing to pay more for their cargo since it has to journey so far.

She checks the docks every day. Sometimes they remain empty, while others the handful of ports are full. The ships vary in size. Some belong to travelers, those embarking to explore a new land, to find refuge - or perhaps looking for a fresh start in this ever changing world. Some are business vessels, hauling cargo, their crews varying in terms of appearances and levels of respectability, yet it seems no one dares to put even a toe out of line, no matter their status in life.

Acho-to gives off the air of being sacred, and even the most questionable of pirates know better than to stir trouble here.

Yet despite the variety of faces that pass through, none are the face that Rey has been looking for.

After weeks upon Ahch-To, she begins to wonder if she was chasing a far off dream. Maybe she had the island wrong, or maybe the stories had become twisted and turned along their journey, rendering the version that Rey had heard, utterly false and nothing more than a fairy tale.

Of course she has options. She could remain on the island, could eventually build her own stone hut and help the other locals take care of this land. She could barter passage on one of the many ships that find their way here, could head back to the mainland, could return and help Poe with the birth of democracy in the kingdom. Or she could always go somewhere new. She could start over, could begin again.

Rey takes her time, mulling over the options laid out before her, all while checking the docks, day after day, looking for a ship manned by a man dressed like the night. Yet every day her footsteps begin to slow. She loses the spring in her step, the undercurrent of excitement that rushes through her veins.

The spark of hope has begun to fade, is on it’s way to becoming snuffed out.

One morning she wakes to the sound of a steady drizzle upon the thatch roof of her hut. The house’s owner has long ago stopped asking for payment for Rey’s room and board, and instead she has taken to helping with chores; the sweeping and washing, even weeding the small garden out back. Anything really to keep her hands busy. Anything to try and keep her mind occupied. 

She refuses to count the days she has been waiting. She refuses to mark another wall of tallies, much like she had as a child, always hoping and waiting for her parents to appear. To maybe swoop in, to kiss her brow and pull her into an embrace. To join her life with Maz, making a nontraditional family of sorts, but a family nonetheless.

So, Rey rises and dresses. She throws a cloak over her shoulders to keep the rain from drenching the tunic and pants she wears. Then she makes her way down the rocky, cliffside path, down to where the docks are located.

No longer does Rey look ahead in anticipation. In fact, she looks anywhere but. She doesn’t want to rush into disappointment, she doesn’t want to see what is, without a doubt, the inevitable - the sight of either an empty dock, or one full of ships that carry many men, but never the right one.

Instead she looks to the coastline. She looks out among the rocky cliffs, to the dark, churning sea spattered with white from the crested waves. She looks to the gray clouds that cover the bright sky, rendering the atmosphere dull and mute, which of course only makes the green grass covering the island, vibrant and lush in comparison. She looks at anything she can, as long as it’s not those docks.   
  


Which is a shame, because had Rey just looked forward, had just spared even a glance at the ships below, she would have seen what she had been waiting for all along.

\- - - - - - - 

He doesn’t remember anything about before. He remembers waking up to nothing but darkness, the air dry and cold as the ground beneath him is dusty and void of all life. As if nothing had ever been born of this land, as if it was a place for death and death alone.

So he did the only thing he could. He stood up, and he placed one foot in front of the other. He began to walk.

The journey was long, and his memory of it was patchy at best. His head felt heavy, as if it was being weighed down by this invisible fog. But he kept moving forward even as he fell to his knees, his feet sore and his shoes tattered. So, instead he began to crawl.

He used his hands, gripping the cracked ground, trying to pull his body along. The sun does not shine in this place. No, it felt forever dark, as if night had taken over, throwing off the balance of nature in its attempt to dominate. 

But soon his body betrays him. Dehydration sets in. His stomach no longer rumbles or growls. He no longer can tell if his hands shake as he reaches forward. His mind keeps dipping in and out of consciousness, and somehow, he knows this is near the end. 

He finds himself lying on his back, his head tilted up towards the sky, and as he looks upon the stars and moon, he sees a pair of hazel eyes. 

“Find me,” a murmur brushes against his ear, the voice soft, warm and feminine. “Find me.”

His lips are dry and cracked as they part. He lets out a shuddering breath.

Then there is nothing but blackness. He is lost in an eternal night.

\- - - - - - -

He wakes again, but this time in the cargo hold of a ship. A man stands over him, offers him sips of water and warns him to drink slow. He doesn’t heed the man’s warning. Instead he takes the ladle and begins to shovel water down his throat. It causes his stomach to churn, and soon he is leaning over the side of the cot, retching onto the wooden planks below. The man swears and disappears with a swish of his cape just as he is falling back onto the blankets, his body feeling clammy with sweat.

Then there is nothing but darkness again.

He is uncertain for how long this lasts. He wakes up only for short bursts of time. He feels the sway of the ship beneath him. The next time he’s offered water, he takes nothing more than tentative sips.

Soon the spells of consciousness grow longer. He is given some hard bread to chew on. 

The man in the cape  _ introduces  _ himself as Captain Calrissian, the ship they’re on has been christened the Falcon. When he has no name of his own to offer up, the man fixates him with a look and a nod. “Jacen. I’ll call you Jacen, if you don’t mind.”

It’s better than nothing, so Jacen is what he becomes.

The moment he can, he’s stepping up on deck to breathe in fresh air. He builds up his strength and begins to chip in with the crew. One night over dinner, the captain explains how they had dropped anchor for the night, when they came across a shipwreck. His body had been floating upon some of the wreckage.

“That doesn’t make sense.” He shakes his head, trying to rid his mind of some of the fog - but to no avail. “The last thing I remember is being stuck on land.” Not even just that, but dry, arid land. The kind of desert where there isn’t water for miles around.

The older man shrugs before he stands, plate and goblet in hand. “I don’t know, kid. All I can tell you is what I know. And what I know is that you were nearly lost to sea. Just be thankful for your second chance.”

Thankful. How can he be thankful when he doesn’t even know who he is? He doesn’t know what god he worships nor what purpose he serves.

But Jacen does the only thing he can think to do. He puts one foot in front of the other. He keeps propelling himself forward, keeps living his life.

\- - - - - - - 

He works on the  _ Falcon  _ for some time, helping in any way he can. He hoists the sails, mops the deck, loads cargo to and from the ship as they stop at docks along the way. He works his way up through the ranks, and before he knows it, Capitan Calrissian is asking if he wants to run his own ship.

“You’ve got a knack for this.” the older man says. “You’re good at this. Perhaps this is who you were before, a man of the sea.”

What else is he to do? So Jacen accepts. He starts off on the  _ Whisper,  _ a small ship of his own, organizes his own crew, and he sets sail for the open waters. The jobs they run are off the books. The kingdom has been shattered by an ongoing civil war, making trade complicated and messy, especially now that no king sits upon the throne, and democracy is still being figured out.

“People still need goods to survive. Cotton, grains, sugar. If one thing stops, then it all falls apart” Lando had told him before they had parted ways. “Sometimes those in charge forget about daily life, as they sit in their castles, trying to figure out how the world should run. Sometimes they forget that the world still turns just fine without their interference.”

It’s not an easy job. Jacen is still green, despite the fact he catches on quickly. He runs his ship with an iron fist, knowing that a coup at sea could be the end of it all; their lives, this job. 

It’s almost like putting on an old boot, one well worn and fit perfectly for just your feet. He falls into a steady rhythm, a routine with his men. They make fast work, sailing the Mon Cala sea at almost fifty knots. Their reputation soon proceeds them, which brings more work - but also unwanted attention.

One day after night falls, they’re boarded by pirates. Jacen and his crew come up on top, but not without bloodshed on both sides.

So, Jacen decides the best thing is to create a new reputation. One that will cause other crews to think twice before attempting to board the  _ Whisper _ .

They don black sails, the same color of the clothes he wears. To be honest, Jacen isn’t sure what makes him do it. Perhaps just a gut instinct, maybe a lesson he had already learned in his previous life. 

Nonetheless, it works. When they dock, people begin to keep their distance, which works for Jacen just fine. Ships steer clear of them out on the open sea, and those that do cross their path make it clear that it is out of similar trade routes, nothing more.

Those who don’t end up at the bottom of the sea.

The  _ Whisper _ sails them from the southern isles of the world, to the cool, frigid lands in the north. The rudder of the ship cuts through warm, clear blue waters and choppy waves flecked with chunks of ice.

Jacen sees the world, and he begins to wonder if these are lands he has already looked upon. Perhaps work had taken him here before. Maybe even his family lives there, warm in a house, missing their son, their brother, their nephew, hoping for his safe return.

But it’s not a family that he dreams about. Instead, it’s a woman with tanned, freckled skin and hazel eyes. The same hazel eyes that he remembers looking up into, mixed with that desert sky.

The fog does not lift from his mind. Instead he just gets bits and pieces, small crumbs that do little to connect the dots of his previous life.

The voice is still the same, as are the words that they speak. “Find me. Find me.” She whispers over and over, a prayer on her pale pink lips. “Because I am looking for you.”

\- - - - - - -

Jacen has been to Ahch-To before. It’s a necessary stop, logistically speaking. It makes for a good halfway point, and the ports are cheap to dock in. It allows his crew a chance to step off ship, to stretch their legs and feel earth beneath their feet. It’s become a bit of a routine by now, to drop anchor, unload a few supplies and spend a day, maybe two on the small island, before setting sail for the northern points of the kingdom.

There isn’t much to do on Ahch-To, but that’s fine with him. Very rarely does he leave the ship, other than to oversee the cargo, perhaps restock a couple supplies.

This time will be no different, apart from the tight schedule they’re on, having lost a good day of travel due to a wicked storm.

No longer does he have to bark orders as they drop anchor. A well oiled machine, his crew moves into action.

He hangs back, overseeing the flurry of movement, eyes peeled, though his posture is more relaxed. No one causes trouble on Ahch-To, it’s ground perhaps the only spot of neutrality left in this world.

After most of the cargo has been unloaded, he too turns to make his way down the gangplank, intending to pay the dock worker for their rent, and to grab a couple things from the tiny market.

But instead he finds his feet stumbling over one another before his body is rendered frozen. His eyes have met a pair that he has seen before - with irises ringed with flecks of gold.

And suddenly he knows that this woman has the voice he’s heard murmuring in his ear. This is the face he has seen in his dreams.

Her. This is her.

\- - - - - - -

The moment she sees the sails, a deep black contrast against the pale gray sky, Rey feels her body falter. Her heart skips a beat before it goes mad, beating relentlessly, the quickened thumping echoing in her ears.

Him. It’s actually him.

She wants to run, to fling her body down the steep stony staircase that had been built into the hillside of the island centuries prior.

Yet she doesn’t trust herself to make it there in one piece, so Rey forces herself to move, making each step deliberate and slow.

It feels like agony, like she’s trying to swim in a vat of thick, sticky molasses.

But she arrives at the docks, unharmed and in one piece. Once her feet hit the flat, wooden planks she breaks out into a run.

She only stops once she sees him. His hair is longer, his face clean shaven. Somehow he looks taller, his shoulders more broad, yet Rey thinks perhaps that’s more due to the effects of time on her memories than anything else.

“Ben.” She murmurs his name as she picks up her feet, continues to close the distance between them. This all feels like another dream, another mirage conjured up inside of her mind. That it will all fade away, gone like a puff of smoke, the moment she wakes.

He’s looking at her now, brow furrowed and lips slightly parted, almost as if he’s going to speak but he’s still uncertain of what to say. 

“Who-” He starts but then falters, shaking his head as if he’s trying to rid it of cobwebs. “Who are you?”

The question hurts more than it should. It’s a dose of icy reality dumped down her back, and it causes Rey to lose momentum, for her legs to come to a shaky stop on the dock.

What a cruel trick of the universe. To give her back Ben, without it really being him. Maybe he’s some distant relative who is identical in physical appearance, the type of gimmick that is usually reserved for children’s fables. Or maybe this is him, but his mind has been washed of who he was, who he was meant to be.

“It’s me-” Rey begins, only realizing how foolish that sounds. “Rey.” There’s nothing but a foot of space between them. She glances behind him, at the grand ship with the name  _ Whisper  _ engraved into a plaque on it’s side. A couple men stand along the rails, eyes darting between her and Ben. 

Suddenly she feels as if the world is gazing upon them. As if every eye has turned to stare.

“You know who I am.” He states rather than asks, and all she can do is nod her head. She doesn’t trust herself to speak.

“Tell me-” He steps forward, and she gasps as his hand reaches for hers. His large fingers encircle her wrist, his hold firm, yet not tight enough that she wouldn’t be able to easily break away.

Once more her eyes dart to the ship behind him, and this time he follows her gaze. As if remembering his place, he clears his throat before giving out a shout, a command. “Tell Kestis he’s in charge. I’ll be back before nightfall.” There are no follow up questions, but even from where she stands, Rey can see the uncertainty in his crewmembers. Nonetheless, they nod and salute before moving off to find Kestis, whoever the hell that is.

Rey only realizes his hand has been gripping her wrist once he lets go. 

“Lead the way.” He instructs, and for once Rey has never been so happy to take heed of a command.

\- - - - - - -

They walk across the hillside, trading the rocky pathway in favor of forging their own. The ground is moist and soft beneath the soles of their boots, the strong scent of the earth mixing with the salty breeze from the sea.

Jacen- No. Not Jacen. Ben was his name,  _ is _ his name. She calls him Ben, because that is who he truly is.

And to think a name was just the tip of the iceberg.

Together, they walk for hours, and she speaks quickly but quietly, retelling the story of his childhood, of his parents and his legacy and his life. She tells the story efficiently, yet her words are eloquent as they paint a picture of the boy he once had been and the man he had grown up to be.

The feeling of fog is not instantly vacated from his mind. But it begins to lift with the more she talks. The pieces are slowly coming together, and he finds himself capable of deciphering what dreams were nothing but the replay of memories, and what was pure fiction.

After their legs grow tired, they take refuge at the base of a large old tree. It’s branches are gnarled yet bare, and the wood looks porous and soft, most likely from the close proximity to the sea. 

They sit side by side, and suddenly Ben feels stupid at the way his stomach flips as his knee brushes against her thigh. He turns his head, drinking in the sight of her profile. And suddenly it seems so easy. Suddenly things begin to click, begin to fall into place. Perhaps he does not remember it all, but he can feel how easy it would be to fall for her, can feel himself falling for her already.

Because she would help him. She would be there for him, would be able to remind him, to guide him.

Because she is his destiny. She is where his life was leading before he forgot it all, and even without trying, she is where he ended up once again.

“Rey-” Her name does not sound foreign on his tongue. No, it rolls off as if he has said it hundreds of times before. She turns to look at him, and for a moment, all Ben can do is stare. 

The corners of her lips turn up, and for a moment they just look upon each other, eyes flittering over every freckle, ever scar, every inch of exposed skin. She seems so familiar, like an answer on the tip of his tongue yet not fully formed. 

But for the first time in their lives, they have time. For the first time there is no war to fight, no duty to call. Rey Palpatine and Ben Organa-Solo were dead, products of a conflict drawn out too long. The world no longer needed them, not as they had before. The kingdom was embarking upon a new age, one of democracy opposed to hierarchies.

There was still a strange sadness, a small pull on his heart that was telling him perhaps he should return. For he is a different man than he had once been. He is not the same Ben, though he is not Kylo Ren nor Jacen either. Perhaps he could be a better king because of it.

Perhaps she saw this in his eyes, for Rey reached over and clasped her hands with his. “Look at me,” She murmurs, and his eyes are quick to flicker to her own. “Sometimes… sometimes it is best to let the past die. To kill it, if you have to. Even farmers sometimes have to burn the fields in order for there to be new growth.”

Their time had passed, leaving nothing but stories of the prince and the mage whose wedding had been the start of a great war. The stories of a husband and wife, standing on opposite ends of the battlefield, whose only weakness was their love for one another.

So he nods his head as a soft smile spreads across his lips. He raises a hand to cup her cheek and tilts his head forward, until his forehead brushes against hers.

“Let the past die.” He echoes. For Ben would much rather look to the horizon, would rather start a new chapter, a new book, with her by his side.

\- - - - - - -

There are tales told and songs sang about a ship that crosses the seas, often traveling at great speeds, black sails billowing as dolphins jump in its wake. But more impressive than a ship that can travel fifty knots, is the story of the ship’s captains. Some whisper that they had once been royalty, a grand lord and lady whose wealth had been stripped after the war.

Others say no, that they were mages, who had lost it all during one of the great battles. Some say they even fought beside the last king of Alderaan, and had a hand in defeating the dark mage, the last member of the house of Palpatine.

A few brave souls had dared to question the captains themselves about their past, yet even fewer received an answer in return. No, often she would just look at her husband, a mischievous glint in her eye. In response, her husband would often shift in his seat. If available, he would take a long drink from his tankard. Only after the suspense had been built, only after everyone had become poised on the edge of their seats, did he finally speak.

“I have a better story for you,” He would proclaim, clearing his throat as his hand moved to find his wife. “One of how a man once became so lost that he did not even know his own name. And the woman who gave him his life back.”

\- - - - - - -

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

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